


you were my crown, now i'm in exile

by burninghoneyatdusk



Series: t100 Fic for BLM Prompts [4]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon Age Difference, Exes to Lovers, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Kid Fic, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:27:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 38,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26264959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burninghoneyatdusk/pseuds/burninghoneyatdusk
Summary: Despite both growing up in the small New England coastal city of Arkadia, Bellamy and Clarke still come from drastically different worlds. That doesn’t stop them from falling in love during Clarke’s senior year of high school. But that was before everything fell apart, before Bellamy left. When he returns six years later, he discovers that he’s left behind more than Clarke.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: t100 Fic for BLM Prompts [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1784740
Comments: 103
Kudos: 394
Collections: The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saysmethatswho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saysmethatswho/gifts).



> First thing's first. This fic was written as a prompt for the t100 Writers for BLM Initiative (formerly Bellarke Writers, but we've rebranded!), where myself and [other writers](https://bellarkefic-for-blm.tumblr.com/writers) and [content creators](https://bellarkefic-for-blm.tumblr.com/content) are accepting prompts in exchange for a donation to an organization that supports the BLM cause. No amount is too small - learn more by visiting the [carrd](https://bellarkefic-for-blm.carrd.co/) and feel free to message or DM me for more details! 
> 
> **Another exciting initiative update: we're launching a bimonthly newsletter! If you'd like to receive more info twice a month regarding our fics, writers & creators, the organizations we've donated to, and BLM news and resources, sign up [here](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSdhPO739cIGyPteR9f10YgjDZ9245ZDBFYPzURzjglEcz1VCg/viewform)!
> 
> The prompt:
> 
> An exes to lovers, modern day [Persuasion](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Persuasion_\(novel\)). Lots of angst and miscommunication. 
> 
> So, a few things:
> 
> \- First off, this is the prompt that got away from me. Somehow it's turning into a ~40k 2-part prompt (the second part which will be published prior to my next prompt). Whoops.  
> \- I feel like I should note that I wrote this fic almost entirely listening to folklore, drinking too much wine, and then while visiting family for a wedding...and THEN the last bit of it after my computer died. I won't get into it, but excuse my chaos and I apologize in advance for my 2:30AM editing...I hope it doesn't show.  
> \- I admittedly only read the Persuasion wikipedia page and this is only loosely inspired by it  
> \- Because I have no control with my kid fic flashback fics, this fic has alternating flashbacks. Essentially the break that is the bold solid line indicates a change in time (present vs. flasbacks) and the --∞-- page break is the normal scene break. Hope that's not too confusing. If so...sorry. 
> 
> OH AND ALSO, show your fav bellarke fic writers & content creators some love by nominating & voting for fics as part of the [Bellarke Fic Writer Awards](https://bellarkeficawards.tumblr.com/) \- it means a lot to writers to be recognized for the work they're providing for free, so I highly encourage you to nominate & vote for your faves! Nominations close on 9/5 11:59PM UTC, so hurry and nominate if you haven't already! 
> 
> The fic title is from 'Exile' off Taylor Swift's folklore album. That entire album is the mood of this fic, but especially that song.

“You okay?” Clarke asks, gently placing a hand on her father’s forearm. He has that familiar far away look in his eyes, one she notices more and more these days. It seems to snap him out of it.

“Of course, sweetheart,” he answers, smiling at her. “I’m just going to get some fresh air, check my work email.”

Clarke nods and he walks towards the giant french doors of the country club’s ballroom that lead out to a wide balcony overlooking the Atlantic. She takes a sip of the champagne, looking around the familiar room. She’s been going to events here as long as she can remember and knows every curved piece of intricate marble that decorates the ceiling, every art piece that hangs on the wall. As she’s grown older, she realizes her father might hate these events as much as she does. Still, he grins and bears it, something she too has learned to do over the years. 

Her moment of peace is abruptly interrupted.

“Clarke, I thought you said you’d be wearing the peach dress tonight,” her aunt Simone observes, walking up beside her. 

Clarke takes a generous sip from her champagne flute before answering, running her free hand over her navy cocktail dress, one with a deep v-cut and a skirt that flows to her knees. She’s always hated pastels, and refuses to wear them now. She’s not completely immune to her aunt’s influences, but she certainly has grown more of a backbone that she used to have.

“Changed my mind,” she tells her, careful to mask her voice into something pleasant. She won’t let it show how much she revels in her aunt’s quiet irritation. “Last minute decision.”

Simon purses her lips. “Where is your father?”

Clarke nods towards the balcony doors. 

“Work call,” she explains, leaving out the part about him simply needing air. She feels a protectiveness over her father, especially when it comes to his overbearing older sister. 

“Where’s Josie and Gabe?” Clarke asks, quickly changing the topic. “I thought they were supposed to be here tonight.” 

“Well, well, well,” Simone observes, ignoring Clarke’s question. Clarke looks at her aunt, noticing how her attention and gaze is now trained on some far away object across the room.

“What-” Clarke starts, but she sees him immediately when her own gaze follow her aunt’s. 

Her heart races and without thinking, she downs the rest of her champagne and exchanges it with a full flute when a waiter passes by her with a tray. 

_What the hell could he possibly be doing here?_

“Did you know-” Simone starts. 

“No,” Clarke immediately cuts her off, eyes still focused on him. “I had no idea - _have_ no idea, what he’s doing here.”

She furrows her brow at him, taking in all the ways that he’s different, even from across the room. He’s still fit, but maybe a little broader. More filled out. The man he’s talking to laughs at something he says, Bellamy instantly charming him in a way she knows he can do with a woman but never with a wealthy country club attendee at a charity gala. This Bellamy isn’t flirting, he’s _schmoozing_ , which may be the most un-Bellamy thing she’s ever witnessed.

Before Clarke’s mind can develop a thorough escape plan, Bellamy’s eyes shift and land on her own, as if sensing the intensity of her scrutinous gaze. She looks away quickly, but not quick enough. 

“I’m going to get some air,” Clarke says hurriedly, slipping away from her aunt before she can even read her reaction. 

If Simone responds, Clarke doesn’t hear it before she’s walking across the room towards the doors as quickly as she can manage in her heels. Once again, it’s not quick enough.

“Clarke.”

She pauses, tensing at his voice. Her mind screams at her to keep moving, but her body ignores the plea, turning to face him, as if the last six years have been nothing but a dream. 

“Bellamy,” she says, simply because she’s not sure what else she’s supposed to say. 

Her eyes rake over him now that he’s only a foot from her. His curls are tamed, face clean shaven, but perhaps most shockingly, is how he’s wearing a suit that she knows is designer. 

“How are you?” he tries, voice void of any emotion, expression unreadable.

The casual tone only enrages her. How dare he come back here, to this city, to her life, and assume that her wounds are healed and scarred over. Maybe they are for him, but one look at him, and she knows that isn’t the case for her.

“Can’t say I’m not surprised to see you here,” she snaps. “I thought you hated these events.”

He’d made it clear he despised not only these galas and parties, but the people who attend them. It’s unnerving to see him float amongst them effortlessly. She wishes that her comment struck him, but instead, he smirks easily. Smug as always - at least that part of him is familiar.

“Well, they’re not so bad when I can convince the people who attend them to give me their money.”

Clarke furrows her brow at that and Bellamy opens his mouth again, probably to elaborate on what that’s supposed to mean, but she doesn’t care to hear it.

“Funny. That sounds _exactly_ like what one of _them_ would say,” she cuts him off, unable to keep the acid from her tone.

His smirk instantly disappears and this time she knows that her words hit home. She doesn’t wait for a response before she spins on her heel and exits into the hallway through the grand mahogany doors. She half expects him to chase after her, but he doesn’t.

\--∞--

Clarke considers letting herself cry on the ten minute ride home, in the safety and solitude of her car, but thinks better of it. If she lets any of it out, she’ll never be able to reel it back in. When she pulls into the long driveway of the grand beach house that she grew up in, her phone lights up with a text. She checks it when she puts her car in park, finding a response to the text she sent her aunt informing her that she was going home. For once, Simone doesn’t pry, only answers that she’ll bring her father home. She supposes that even Simone feels some sympathy for Clarke after being blindsided by the sight of her ex-boyfriend - ex-fiance, technically - for the first time in six years. 

Clarke slips off her heels as soon as she steps inside the house. It’s nearly 10pm and she can hear the television in the living room.

“Hey, Madi,” Clarke greets the thirteen year old, who’s sitting on the living room couch. 

“Hi, Clarke,” she greets cheerfully, turning the television off. “How was the gala?”

“Oh, as thrilling as always,” Clarke answers sarcastically, pulling two fifty dollar bills out of her purse.

“That’s too much-” Madi starts, but Clarke only gives her a pointed look and shakes her head.

Madi accepts it sheepishly. The girl deserves it - she’s an excellent babysitter and it’s not like Clarke can’t spare the money. 

“How did tonight go?” Clarke asks as Madi slips the money into the back pocket of her jeans. 

“All good. He’s been asleep since eight - protested for a bit, but I bribed him with two stories.”

Clarke laughs. “That’ll do it,” she agrees, walking Madi towards the front door.

“I’ll see you later, Clarke,” she tells her, walking over to her bike. She turns Clarke down anytime Clarke tries to offer the girl a ride home, and tonight it’s not a possibility anyways since no one else is home to watch Will while she’s gone.

Clarke sighs heavily once she’s shut the door behind Madi, immediately shedding the cheery facade. Heading towards the kitchen that is far too big for the three of them, she decides that one more glass of wine is in order tonight. She brings it upstairs with her and sets it on her dresser, sipping on it as she unclips her hair and changes into a pair of leggings and t-shirt a size too big on her. Before crawling into bed, she pads down the hall towards her son’s room. He’s a light sleeper, but she risks not only peeking into the room and checking on him, but walking in and kneeling next to the bed. 

He’s sleeping peacefully but she can’t help but run a careful hand through his father’s curls, although they’re a few shades lighter than his own. He also boasts his father’s freckles, sprinkled across his adorable nose and cheeks. His father’s warm and intense brown eyes are masked by closed eyelids, fluttering with dreams. He’s his father’s son in so many ways - his father, who for reasons unknown to her, is suddenly back in Arkadia.

* * *

**~7 YEARS AGO**

“You’re coming.”

“I’m not,” Clarke warns her cousin, rolling over on her bed so that she’s laying on her stomach.

She observes Josie with weary eyes as she shimmies into a pair of skinny jeans a size too small for her. Josie also brought a tank top that Clarke thinks looks more like a corset, but she doesn’t say anything. There’s a reason Josie always ends up getting ready for parties at Clarke’s house, where her father is often locked away in his office. Her parents would never let her out of the house dressed like that.

“We’re going to get caught.”

Josie huffs, pulling on the top over her strapless bra. “I never get caught.”

“Probably because I’m not with you.”

Josie spins around before Clarke can process it, chucking one of the throw pillows from her bay windows at her. 

“Stop,” Clarke whines, but the word dissolves into laughter. 

Josie jumps onto the bed next Clarke. 

“It’s our senior year. Don’t you want to start it right? We have one year left to live our best lives before we’re shipped off to stuffy ivy leagues and trained to be high society wives.” She says _high society wives_ in a mock sophisticated tone, making Clarke laugh. 

“I’m pretty sure they have parties there too,” Clarke points out. 

Josie laughs, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, and you won’t go to those either.”

Clarke doesn’t argue - she’s undecided on what kind of college experience she’s looking for.

“Please?” Josie whines, poking at her stomach. “For me?”

Clarke laughs. “I know you don’t need me there.”

“I _want_ you there.”

Clarke should have known better than to hesitate, because Josie immediately jumps from Clarke’s bed and heads over to her walk-in closet. 

“How do you have so many clothes, and yet nothing to wear to a party?” she yells from inside it a moment later.

“Because I don’t go to them!”

Josie pokes her head out, tilting it and giving her a pointed look. “Really, Clarke? What are you going to do? Invite Wells over for _another_ movie night, or finally start living your life?”

“That’s not _all_ I do.”

“Prove me wrong then,” Josie challenges, narrowing her eyes at her.

Clarke narrows her own eyes. Her cousin knows how to get to her, if only because incredible stubbornness is one of the only traits they have in common. 

“Fine,” Clarke sighs.

Josie squeals, disappearing back into the closet. Clarke rolls off the bed, reluctantly following her.

“Does this work?” Clarke asks, pulling out a sundress. Sure, it isn’t _sexy_ like Josie’s outfit, but the baby blue dress with thin vertical white stripes is one of the less conservative dresses she owns, and it accentuates her generous cleavage more than most of her clothing does. Besides, it’s not like she can borrow something of Josie’s - her cousin is slim, inheriting none of the curves that Clarke has grown to resent. 

Josie looks at it for a beat, before shrugging. “I guess it’ll have to do.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Thanks for the confidence,” she chides, walking back into her room to change. Josie follows her. 

“I’ll do your hair and make up, we’ll make it work.”

\--∞--

Clarke leans against the kitchen counter, clutching her solo cup like a life line. She shoves herself closer to the counter when a couple squeezes by her, trying to make herself as small and unnoticeable as possible. She clearly didn’t need to worry about that - they barely note her presence as they pass her. 

It’s a small house on the other side of the city and unsurprisingly, Clarke knows _no one_ from school. She thinks they’re all either public school students or kids who have already graduated - probably a mixture of both. All Clarke knows is that a guy name Gabriel lives here, which she knows because it’s the reason that Josie wanted to come. She apparently met him at the beach the weekend before, but Clarke wasn’t really paying attention when she told her about it. In Josie’s world, there’s a new guy every month. It’s too tiring for Clarke to keep track of all of them. Her cousin has a short attention span.

The house is too crowded for its size and despite that the New England September has brought cooler air, it does nothing to combat the heavy humidity in the house, made worse by the lingering and ever present smell of weed. Clarke’s eyes scan the kitchen and the part of the living room she can see into, but there’s no sign of Josephine anywhere. She might be pissed about Josephine begging her to come to this party, only to ditch her for a guy, if it wasn’t the most classic Josephine move ever. Clarke can only expect these types of things at this point. Instead, her eyes land on a back door in the kitchen when a couple walks into the house through it, clinging to each other.

Pushing off the counter, she figures that she can at least escape for some fresh air until Josephine finds her again. She takes a deep breath as she walks out and the cool air hits her skin, already feeling refreshed. There are a few other people out there, but no one pays her any attention, which at this point, is how she prefers it. There are a couple people smoking on the other side of a deck and a makeshift fire pit that people are sitting around in the cramped backyard. She wishes she fit with people as effortlessly as people like Josie did, but it’s never been who she is. Instead, she takes a gulp of the punch Josie poured for her upon arrival, hoping some alcohol in her system will take the edge off the sharp awkwardness she feels at being there. It tastes terrible and she nearly chokes, her face scrunching in response.

“I’d be careful with that, it’s toxic stuff. You’ll be on the floor before you know it.”

Clarke whips her head, eyes scanning for the source of the deep voice. Her eyes land on a guy leaning against the wall of the house behind her, a lit cigarette in his hand. He brings the cigarette back to his lips, inhaling a drag, snapping her out of her shameless observation of him.

“I think I’ll manage,” Clarke bites back. Who is he to tell her what she can handle? The guy only chuckles in response.

“Easy, Princess. Just looking out for you,” he shrugs, taking another drag. 

It’s only then that Clarke allows herself to really look at him - dark curls, a sharp jawline, tan skin with freckles and intense dark eyes. There’s a twinkle of amusement in them. He’s wearing only a plain white t-shirt with jeans that look like they’ve seen better days. Luckily for her, she’s always found the _bad boy_ to be overrated, so this guy is hardly her type. Not to mention that his smugness is pissing her off.

“ _Princess_?” she questions, her tone making it clear she isn’t a fan of the pet name.

The guy just looks her up and down in a way that makes Clarke want to cover herself, but she doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction. It sends a chill up her spine and it’s surprisingly, unfortunately, not a _bad_ chill.

“Let me guess - Polis Academy?” he laughs. “How’d you end up at a party in a dump like this?”

Clarke straightens, forcing her shoulders back and raising her eyebrows at him. “My cousin, Josie. She wanted to come.”

Recognition flickers on his face and to her dismay, he snubs out his cigarette in an ash tray she didn’t notice on the railing before moving to stand beside her, leaning with his back against the railing. “Ah, Gabe’s new girl.”

Clarke eyes him. She doesn’t like the sound of that.

“And exactly how many girls does _Gabe_ go through?” she asks, immediately feeling protective of her cousin.

The guy chuckles again, a deep rumble. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. Gabe’s a good guy.”

“And how do you know?”

He raises his brow at the challenge, the amused glint in his eye ever-present. “Because he’s my friend - and roommate.”

“You live here?” Clarke knows she doesn’t hide her surprise well.

“Yeah?”

“Oh.”

“Welcome,” he laughs, gesturing vaguely to the space around them. 

Clarke doesn’t respond, unsure of what to say to this guy. 

“What’s your name?” he tries.

Clarke eyes him wearily. 

“It’s that or Princess,” he shrugs. 

Clarke rolls her eyes, unable to conjure up any real malice. “It’s Clarke.”

“Clarke,” he echoes, like he’s trying it out, tasting it for the first time. “Now, that is _truly_ a Polis Academy name right there.”

Clarke huffs. “And what is yours then?”

He smirks before he tells her, like he’s anticipating a reaction. “Bellamy.”

Clarke huffs. “That sounds more like a Polis Academy name than Clarke does.”

Bellamy shrugs, smirking, clearly more amused than insulted. “My mother’s an artist and a hippie.”

That peaks Clarke’s interest, her being an artist herself. Well, maybe _artist_ is a stretch, but she loves it. Clarke opens her mouth to respond, but is cut off by a voice at the door before she can.

“Bell, are you coming or not?”

Clarke turns to see a brunette watching the two of them, a girl with sharp features and striking green eyes. She’s stunning. 

“In a minute, O.”

The girl rolls her eyes, but goes back into the house. Bellamy pushes off the railing, looking Clarke over in a way that she can’t really place. “I guess I’ll see you around, _Princess_.”

Clarke gives him a pointed look, but he only chuckles again before disappearing back into the house.

* * *

“Shit, shit, shit,” Clarke mutters, staring ahead at the line of traffic. 

She never leaves herself enough time to get to the school in afternoon traffic, but she always makes it in the knick of time, and so her habits don’t change. As if her mind isn’t scattered enough, her phone has to ring at _that_ moment. Clarke glances at it, noting Raven’s face flashing across the screen. With a huff, she hits the bluetooth button on her steering wheel.

“Hey, can I call you back? I’m-”

“I can’t _believe_ you didn’t tell me!” Raven cuts her off. 

It takes Clarke a beat to understand what she’s referring to.

“Bellamy,” Clarke says. 

“Yes, duh.”

“What, did Josie tell you? How did you even-”

“Of course Josie told me, are you new around here?”

Clarke sighs, running a hand through her shoulder length hair. 

“Not new, just giving the people in my life more credit than I should. Anyways, there’s nothing to tell - I saw him at the charity gala on Saturday, but that was four days ago, and maybe he was only in town for the night or something. I haven’t seen him sense. It’s not like I have his number anymore or anything.”

“Still, it’s not like-”

“Raven,” Clarke cuts her off, pulling into the school parking lot. “I’ve got to pick up Will, can I call you back later?”

Raven scoffs. “You won’t.”

“Bye, love you!” Clarke responds quickly, hanging up. Raven is right - she probably won’t. 

\--∞--

The bell above the door to _Abigail’s_ rings as Clarke opens it for Will, letting him into her boutique and following close behind. Murphy is sitting on a stool behind the front desk, his face buried in a book. Clarke sighs, noting the boxes still sitting on the floor beside the desk.

“Go start your homework, hon,” Clarke tells Will. 

He heads over to the adjoining room that hosts a small cafe. Will always sits in the corner table while he works on his homework until Clarke closes the shop up at five. At the kindergarten level, it’s not like his homework is too difficult, but she’s trying to instill good habits while she can. He’s already advanced in reading and Clarke often finds him reading, or attempting to read, a book rather than doing his actual homework. Just another trait inherited directly from his father. 

“I told you to unpack these,” Clarke grumbles at Murphy, walking over to the boxes. She takes the box cutter out of the drawer, cutting them open herself. 

“Ouch, somebody’s cranky,” Murphy comments, flipping the page in his book.

“You know I’m your boss, right? Like, I could fire you when you don’t do _shit_?” Clarke huffs, starting to unload the boxes. It’s mostly water color paints, a new brand she’s bringing into the store. 

Murphy raises his eyebrows at that, clearly sensing her worse than usual mood, and quickly puts his book down. A moment later, he’s unpacking the box beside her.

“Sorry,” Clarke says after a beat. “It’s been a week.”

Despite his general inability to heed to any form of authority, Murphy is actually a great employee most of the time. Both of them are well aware she’s taking out her frustrations over something else completely on him. Part of why she’s grown to love Murphy over the last few years is the way he simply shrugs at the apology, not prodding or demanding any explanation. 

Clarke has her face in one of the boxes when she hears the bell over the front door ring. She stands quickly, turning towards the customer, only for her heart to drop into her stomach when she sees him. Murphy, who has never met Bellamy simply continues unloading the box as if nothing has happened. She wishes that were the case for her too. 

Clarke immediately tenses, stunned into silence, all too aware of the son he doesn’t know exists working on his homework in the next room. Bellamy must take her posture as a reaction to his mere presence, because puts his hands up in mock surrender.

“I come in peace,” he tries. 

That greeting has Murphy looking up at the exchange with curious eyes, but he says nothing. 

Clarke sighs, forcing her shoulders into something more relaxed.

“What are you doing here?” She crosses her arms, suddenly having no idea what to do with her hands.

“Here, or Arkadia?”

Clarke shrugs. “Both, I guess.”

“This is really cool,” he ponders, wandering over to one of the book shelves, ignoring _both_ of the questions. 

“Thanks,” she says dismissively. But after a beat, she can’t help but elaborate. She’s proud of what she’s accomplished, even if she’s all too aware it wasn’t without her family’s money. “It’s an art supply store, book store, a cafe through there,” she points to the doorway to the cafe where Will is doing his homework. “There’s a gallery room through there,” she points in the opposite direction of the cafe, on the other side of the building. “We host local artists sometimes.”

Clarke swallows, forcing herself into silence when she realizes she’s rambling. Bellamy only nods, continuing to look around the place with curious eyes. Finally, his gaze lands on Murphy, who is pretending not to notice this awkward exchange, but is almost certainly memorizing every detail to tell to Emori, Wells, and Raven later.

“Do you have a minute to talk?” he asks, looking more nervous than she ever remembers him being. 

Clarke clears her throat. “Yeah, sure,” she starts, walking towards the gallery room. “In here.”

* * *

**~7 YEARS AGO**

Clarke hops up the steps to Arkadia’s public library two at a time, all too relieved that the day is over. It’s Monday and she had three exams, despite it only being late September. She’s only feeling confident about two of them.

Going to the public library has become routine for Clarke since she started her sophomore year. Technically Polis Academy’s library is nicer, but Clarke likes that she doesn’t have to worry about other students around her. She likes being away from her classmates and feels more at peace slinking into the background. Josie often hounds her for this, claiming the only good part of any library is hanging out with friends, but Clarke actually likes to get some work done. She can’t focus on her homework at her house - it’s the opposite problem from her school’s library. It’s too quiet and big in a way that feels overwhelming. Her dad doesn’t get home from the office until nearly seven, and since she outgrew the need for nannies long ago, she hates being alone there. It’s easy to feel like a ghost, being the only one amongst the living.

Clarke pulls open the front door, smiling at the familiar librarian when she walks by her. All the librarians know Clarke at this point. She heads to her usual table and sits down, tossing her backpack on it. Only, the minute she sits down, she sees _him_. 

Two tables away, sits the guy from the party.

 _Bellamy_ , she thinks, remembering the strange name.

He’s staring right back on her, the smirk he’s wearing more familiar than anything else about him. She quickly looks away, starting to unpack her backpack, but it’s too late. They’ve already made awkward eye contact. 

“Following me, Princess?” he teases. 

Clarke looks up at him, shooting him her best glare. She glances around, their voices sounding loud in the silence of the library, but nobody else is around yet.

“Of course not,” she responds. After a beat, she adds, “Maybe you’re following me.”

Bellamy shrugs. “I’m always here at this time.”

Clarke can’t exactly refute that, especially as she looks at him now. It’s not like she would have noticed or acknowledged him if it weren’t for the strange encounter at the party. Besides, not only are there usually more people scattered throughout the communal tables, but he looks different than he did at the party. He’s wearing thick, black square glasses, and- oh, maybe that’s just it. That’s the only physical difference, and yet, something does seem different. Maybe it’s simply hard to keep up with the bad boy image imprinted in her mind from the party when he’s wearing those glasses and doesn’t have a lit cigarette in his hand.

“Well so am I,” Clarke quickly argues, realizing she never answered him. 

He doesn’t say anything more and so Clarke pulls out her macbook and notebooks to prepare for a few hours of studying. To her dismay, he packs up his things a moment later, moving to sit across from her at _her_ table. He opens up his own laptop without a word. It’s a much older version, she notes. What brand, she has no idea. 

“I have to get work done,” she warns, unsure of what exactly he’s trying to do. 

Bellamy leans on his forearms across the table. 

“Me too,” he whispers, before abruptly pulling back. 

\--∞--

Without fail, every day over the next two weeks, Clarke sits down at an empty table in the library. Every day, without fail, Bellamy moves from whichever table he’s sitting at to her own, taking a seat across from her without a word. 

Clarke always gives him a warning glance and Bellamy always gives her a teasing smile. Still, although she certainly has never _invited_ him, she also has never asked him to leave. It would feel strange to, since he really does quietly do his own work, whatever that may be.

On the Wednesday of the second week, she looks at him over her own laptop, unable to curb her curiosity about what his deal is. He licks his lips as he types and Clarke feels her stomach swirl with some foreign warmth she doesn’t understand. Wednesday is the day her curiosity gets the best of her.

“Are you doing work for college?” she asks. 

Bellamy laughs at that, continuing to type without looking up at her. It must be an inside joke, because she doesn’t understand why it’s a funny question.

“No, I’m not in college. I’m a bartender.”

Clarke tucks away that useful fact. So he’s at least 21, which is more than she knew about him than a minute ago.

“You can do both,” Clarke defends.

“True,” Bellamy agrees. “But I don’t. Too much money,” he adds, matter-of-factly. He’s still typing away.

“Then what are you doing here everyday?”

This time, Bellamy finally looks up at her over his cheap, boxy laptop, and pauses his typing. For the first time since she met him at the party, the cockiness slips from his face. A subtle uncertainty shadows his eyes, but he answers her after a beat.

“I write. I’m working on a book.”

Clarke raises her brow at that, unable to hide her surprise. Bellamy chuckles at her reaction.

“Really?

“Yeah, _really_ ,” he laughs. “Why is that so surprising?”

Clarke shrugs. She doesn’t have a good reason aside from all the biases about him she formed based on their short, and mostly silent, interactions. 

“Have you been published?”

Bellamy chuckles again. “No. It’s a cruel world world out there for writers.”

Clarke nods. “Maybe someday though,” she offers, feeling strangely optimistic about it for someone who has no idea who he is or how good a writer he is.

Bellamy stares at her for a beat too long before answering. “Maybe,” he agrees with a nod.

They don’t talk the rest of afternoon. Like everyday since he began sitting with her, Bellamy leaves first, around 6:30pm, so he can make it to his bar shift on time. The next afternoon, when Clarke walks into the communal space of the library, she looks at Bellamy. He hasn’t noticed her yet - he’s typing away like always. Now she finds herself wondering what he might be writing about. She glances around at a few tables that remain empty, that she can take a seat at. Minutes later, she knows Bellamy will pack up his things and join her.

Clarke straightens, making up her mind. She walks confidently over to Bellamy’s table and sits down across from him. He doesn’t acknowledge her, but she doesn’t miss the smirk he bites down. If he’s going to continue sitting with her, she might as well save him the energy.

* * *

She opens the door for him and steps inside after him. The room is empty right now - she doesn’t have anything booked for a few weeks. The late afternoon sun shines through the two large windows that face the street, casting a soft glow over the empty room.

“I wanted to apologize, for the other night,” he starts, as soon as she closes the door behind her. “It was a shock, seeing you. I was rude and thoughtless and - I’m sorry.”

Clarke’s eyes run over him, taking him in. She wasn’t expecting an apology, although she isn’t exactly sure why. It’s not like Bellamy ever treated her with anything other than respect, at least before it all fell apart.

“It was a surprise? Seeing _me_ at the country club?”

Bellamy furrows her brow at her. “Well, I wasn’t sure if you would even still be in Arkada at all.”

Clarke shakes her head. This isn’t important, and is only going to lead him down a road to more dangerous questions. 

“It’s okay - I wasn’t any better,” she admits instead.

A familiar smirk breaks across his face, although there’s something different about it - less confident, less...weightless. He opens his mouth to say something, but Clarke will never know what he intended to say. Before he has a chance to respond, her son comes bursting through the door. 

“Mom, I don’t get this one,” he complains, waving one of his homework worksheets. 

If Clarke thought her heart dropped into her stomach when Bellamy walked into the store, then whatever she’s feeling now is a new emotion altogether. Somehow, she manages to push past it.

“Okay, hon. Just move onto something else, and I’ll be there in a minute.” 

“But, Mom-”

“I mean it, Will,” she warns, biting down on her lip as she immediately realizes her mistake in revealing his name. Still, her five year old son is none the wiser. He only leaves the room, pouting, and shooting Bellamy a curious look on his way out. 

Clarke forces herself to look at Bellamy, although it takes every ounce of strength she has. He’s already staring her, jaw clenched, assessing her with those intense brown eyes. In that moment, she truly hates how easily he reads her, like no time has passed at all.

“ _Mom_?” he questions, like the word is foreign to him. It is, when it’s being applied to her. 

“Yeah,” she tells him, her voice appearing more confident and steady than she truly feels. Her racing heart betrays her true feelings. 

“How old, Clarke?” he questions, furrowing his brow at her, like he can’t believe it. 

“We’re not doing this here,” she warns, tone firm, leaving no room to argue. “But...yes. He’s yours.”

When she says it, she feels like she’s hovering out of her body. Like it can’t possibly be real that she’s saying those words aloud to him. 

Bellamy’s entire body tenses and Clarke knows he’s trying to rein it in, but Bellamy’s never been good at controlling his emotions. He swallows thickly, glaring harshly at her. 

“You - you just-”

“You _left_ ,” Clarke nearly spits. “Without a word, without warning, you just _left_.”

She tries so hard to keep her tears reined in, and barely manages, but she does. 

Emotion ripples through Bellamy. 

“You didn’t want me. I left to _make_ something _-_ ” but he cuts himself off. Still, she doesn’t need to hear the rest of it.

 _I left to make something of myself_ , is what he wanted to say. She’s sure of it.

Her expression softens, grief drowning her anger in a matter of seconds. 

“Me not wanting - me not running away with you, abandoning my entire life - the only life I’d ever known,” she emphasizes, “had nothing to do with you not being _good_ enough. I _never_ thought that, so don’t you _dare_ put that on me,” she warns, voice shaking.

Bellamy only stares at her for a long, horrific moment, before storming through the door. She stands there, listening as the bell rings when he leaves the store, decidedly not chasing after him. 

* * *

**~7 YEARS AGO**

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

Clarke stares at her paused television, iPhone pressed to her ear, wishing that she was still watching _New Girl_ rather than talking to her cousin.

“I don’t know. Nothing really, probably just studying.”

“Not anymore,” Josephine sings.

Clarke sighs, rolling her eyes at her cousin’s antics, even though she’s not around to see it. 

“What did you do?”

“We’re doing a beach day.”

“Who’s _we_?”

“Gabriel and his friends.”

Clarke huffs a laugh. “No.”

“Your presence was requested.”

Clarke furrows her brow at that. “ _What_?”

“Bellamy, his roommate, asked about you. I didn’t even know you knew him, did you meet at the party?”

“Something like that,” Clarke mumbles, thinking of their strange library dates over the last two weeks. Well no - not _dates_. Certainly not dates. 

“Well, he asked if you were coming with me.”

“So naturally, you said yes before asking me.” Clarke rolls her eyes once more for good measure.

“Of course.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Nope. I’m at Gabe’s house, and Bellamy is sitting a few feet away from me. It would be _very_ rude to reject the invitation.”

Clarke sighs. She wishes she were more put off by Josie’s invitation - or more accurately, demand - but the only thing running through her mind is that Bellamy asked if she would be there. Maybe, if Josie wasn’t exaggerating, even requested it. She hates herself for it, but she can already feel the excitement bubbling in her at the opportunity to see him again. There’s just something about the guy...she can’t put her finger on it. He intrigues her...she wants to know more.

“Fine,” Clarke concedes, pretending to be more reluctant than she actually feels now that she knows Bellamy will be there. 

“Great! We’ll pick you up at noon!”

“Josie-” she starts, but her cousin has already hung up on her.

Clarke presses play on the television, feeling equally nervous and excited about what the following day might bring.

\--∞--

Clarke knocks on the door to her father’s office. 

“Yeah?”

She opens the door, poking her head in. He looks tired, his glasses perched on his nose, his desk covered in papers. 

“Hey, Dad. I’m heading to the beach with Josie.”

Clarke waits to see if he might ask her any further details - who she’ll be with, when she’ll be back, what they’re doing. He doesn’t. 

“That sounds fun, sweetheart,” he smiles at her. “Have a good time.”

Clarke nods, shutting the door, and makes her way to the front of the house to wait for Josie. She runs her hands over her white maxi sundress that falls just above her ankles, covering her conversative and plain navy bikini. Clarke isn’t really sure what to expect for the day, but given the party she attended a couple weeks ago, she already suspects that she won’t be fitting in. Still, at least Bellamy will be there. That’s one more friendly face, she supposes. 

The honk snaps Clarke out of her nervous anticipation and daydreams. She grabs her wicker beach bag and slides her club master ray bans on before walking out the door, her sun hat under her arm. Her eyes scan over her roundabout driveway, over the slightly obnoxious fountain that rests in the center of the circle, and lands on an old jeep convertible. As she walks closer, she notes that Gabriel is driving, Josie is comfortably seated in the passenger seat, and _Bellamy_ is sitting in the back seat. 

“Hey, Princess,” he smirks at her, as soon as she appears at the car. Still, he at least leans over to open the door for her.

Clarke shoots him her best glare. 

“You know my name,” she chides before sliding into the back of the jeep. Josie chuckles at the exchange from the front of the car.

Clarke observes with interest how Josie takes Gabriel’s hand, holding it over the center console, as he turns onto the main road. It’s certainly different for her - Josie has only been one for evening affairs and clandestine meetings. She gets a thrill out of it, Clarke knows. This open affection, this easiness...it’s new for her. 

It doesn’t take them more then ten minutes to get to the area of the beach where most young people hang out. Clarke watches out her window the entire drive there, trying not to think about how cute Bellamy looks, sitting just a foot away from her in swim trunks, a muscle tank top, and gas station aviator sunglasses. 

Clarke is quiet as they unload the car, feeling more nervous by the second. It’s not that anyone is making her feel that way - in fact, Gabriel and Bellamy are perfect gentlemen. Bellamy even insists on carrying her bag once they unload the car. It’s only that Clarke has never been great at being thrown into social situations with new people, especially when Josie, the worst social crutch in the world, is her companion. Still, she puts on a brave face, pretending to be as relaxed and carefree as she knows her cousin truly is. 

Gabriel wraps his arm around Josie as they walk onto the beach and Bellamy and her walk quietly behind them. 

“I can carry something,” Clarke tries again, glancing at Bellamy. He’s got her bag, his own, and a cooler. Somehow, he looks like he’s hardly struggling.

“I’ve got it, Princess.”

Clarke shoots him a glare.

“ _Clarke_ ,” he quickly corrects himself. Clarke smiles at that, looking ahead at the group they’re walking towards.

There’s about a dozen of them, sprawled out across multiple towels and beach blankets. Gabriel is a gracious host, introducing them all, but Clarke only remembers about half the names - Miller, Roma, Bree, Bryan, Jade, Mbege, Sterling, and Riley. Even then, she doubts she’ll remember them all later. She has to admit that they’re all incredibly nice to her. Clarke is surprised when Bree immediately compliments her dress and Miller asks her what she wants to drink. Her classmates at Polis Academy are never so welcoming, and she’s known them for over a decade. 

The day fades into late afternoon, which quickly slides into the evening. Per usual, Clarke is in awe of her cousin. She can’t have spent _that_ much time with these people prior to this, but somehow, she seems to have already won them over. She interacts with them like she’s known them for decades, like they’re the oldest of friends. Still, Clarke doesn’t think she’s doing too bad herself, although it might be simply because they’re being incredibly nice to her. They include her in all conversations, and thanks to the drinks that Miller has repeatedly provided her with, she feels herself quickly loosening up.

The sun is starting to fall lower in the sky when Roma bullies everyone into a swim. They run across the beach, splashing into the cold Atlantic that sends a shiver up Clarke’s skin. It’s the first time she’s taken her sundress off, wearing only her bikini, and she hates that her reaction once she’s in the water is to immediately look for Bellamy. 

Bellamy, strangely enough, has been at her side almost constantly since they arrived. She certainly doesn’t mind it, although she suspected it has something to do with the fact he’s only pitying her. But now, as they’re all spashling in the water, her eyes meet his dark ones. He smiles at her, and she isn’t so sure about the pity theory anymore. Before she can contemplate that look, Bellamy jumps towards her, briefly dunking her under the surface. She comes up gasping, laughing as she pushes him away, trying to enact an equal punishment. He laughs, his hands on her bare hips, her attempts at revenge failing due to her being half his size. Eventually, their battle digresses into Clarke on his back, legs wrapped around his center. Instead of her taking him down, he jumps backwards into the waves, dumping both of them. The sun is low on the horizon as she surfaces, finding Bellamy already staring at her, laughing heartily. He looks good during the golden hour, she thinks. The orange glow in the sky casts off his tan skin, the droplets of water sparkling in his dark curls. 

“You okay, Princess?” he asks with a smirk. 

Clarke knows she’s been caught, and for once, has no ample comeback. She splashes him in retaliation instead. 

\--∞--

Once the sun goes down, the group migrates to gather around a bonfire, passing snacks and more drinks from person to person. Clarke finds herself sharing a blanket with Bellamy, not so much separate from the group, but on the outskirts of it. She’s starting to realize that Bellamy’s proximity to her might be by design, rather than chance or pity. 

Clarke rubs at her arms, the chill in the September air dipping dramatically without the sun shining down on them. The breeze from the water feels brutal and she internally scolds herself for forgetting to bring a jacket or cardigan. 

“Here.”

Clarke tears her gaze from the fire, turning to face Bellamy. He’s holding up a flannel button up.

“Then _you’ll_ be cold.” 

Bellamy smirks. “I run hot. Take it.”

Clarke hesitates. “Are you sure?”

He rolls his eyes good naturedly at her. “ _Yes_ , here.”

Clarke pulls it on over her sundress. She sips on a beer, mostly listening to the conversation rippling throughout the circle. Soon enough though, it breaks into smaller ones, and turns into Clarke sitting beside Bellamy in silence, feeling nervous all over again. Bellamy however, doesn’t seem to have that problem. He lays down with a dramatic sigh, turning on his side to face her, head propped on his hand. 

“Tell me something.”

Clarke raises her brow at the question, taking a sip of her beer so she doesn’t have to speak right away.

“Like what?”

“Like your story.”

Clarke laughs at that. “Are you going to turn it into a book?”

Bellamy shrugs, seemingly amused at the question. “If it’s any good, then sure.”

Clarke, sitting cross-legged in front of him, runs a hand through her messy waves, stiff with saltwater. She doesn’t really have a story - not an interesting one anyways. The only interesting parts are the details too morbid to share with an acquaintance at a party. She eyes him wearily, still unsure of what to say. 

“Well, what do you want to know?”

Bellamy laughs. “You don’t make it easy, you know that?”

“Make what easy?”

“Knowing you.”

Clarke rolls her eyes for umpteenth time, but can’t seem to do it without biting down a smile. 

“Fine, I’ll provide you with my autobiography.”

Bellamy’s eyes light up at that. “Let’s hear it.”

“I’m an only child, but was raised closely with Josie, so she’s more like a sister than a cousin to me. It’s just my dad and I - my mom died when I was seven,” she starts, brushing over the mention of her mother. The guilt seeps into her just as intensely as always, never fading with the years. “- but we’re close to Josie’s parents, my aunt and uncle. I go to Polis - which you already know. I like art, but I’ll probably major in something related to pre-med in college. Does that suffice?”

Bellamy ignores her sarcastic quip on the end. “Why are you going to be a doctor if you like art?”

“Can’t I like both?”

“Do you?”

Clarke bites her lip, considering that. She shrugs, after a beat. “My mom was a doctor, it’s what my parents have always wanted for me.”

“Well that’s not a good reason.”

Bellamy Blake is blunt, Clarke is realizing. An open book to her carefully guarded walls. It’s a little bit unnerving, and she thinks that the only reason she’s entertaining it tonight is because this is far from her first drink of the day. Clarke sets aside her beer and shifts to lay down on her side beside him, reluctantly preparing for this conversation to be more than she bargained for. 

“My dad knows it’s what my mom wanted, it makes him happy that I’m going to be a doctor. Besides, it’s not like I’m not good at it. I’m not _not_ interested in medicine.”

“You’re going to base your career on making sure your dad is happy?”

“It’s hard to explain,” Clarke sighs. “Since my mom died...it’s been the two of us for so long. My dad’s never been the same since we lost my mom - buries himself in his work, doesn’t take care of himself.” Clarke laughs. “I don’t think he would have eaten a vegetable if it wasn’t for me making him dinner.” She shakes her head. “Anyways, I just don’t want to cause him anymore problems.”

“So if you take care of him, who takes care of you?”

Clarke furrows her brow at that. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”

“Everyone needs someone,” he argues. 

Clarke huffs. “And who do you have then?”

Bellamy smiles at the question. “My mom and little sister. My dad passed when I was ten, but the three of us are really close.”

“That sounds nice,” Clarke murmurs.

“We’ll you’ve never had a little sister bugging you when you’re trying to get literally anything done,” he laughs.

“Well, Josie might be five months older than me, but I’m pretty sure I can relate to the sentiment,” she laughs in return. 

Bellamy chuckles at that, staring into her eyes as he does. Clarke swallows thickly as the laughter melts into a silence heavy with tension, her heart racing in anticipation for some unknown reason. Miller’s voice loudly cuts through the quiet chatter around the fire, ending whatever moment had passed between Bellamy and her.

“Beach is closing! We’re moving to the shack!”

“The shack?” Clarke questions, sitting up. 

Bellamy follows, and for the first time, his responding smile almost looks sheepish. “It’s what they call mine and Gabe’s place,” he laughs. 

Clarke giggles, raising her brow at that.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” he quickly. “We can give you a ride-”

“No, I’ll come,” she agrees.

Bellamy’s responding smile makes her heart flutter.

\--∞--

“Clarkie, did you have fun?” Josie slurs, throwing her arms around her cousin in a sloppy hug. 

“I did,” Clarke laughs, raising her eyebrows at Gabriel over Josie’s shoulder. Instead of looking annoyed, he only looks amused.

“Let’s get you some water and to bed, babe,” he coos, pulling her off of Clarke. 

Gabriel must sense her nerves regarding her wasted cousin. “I’ll leave my door open,” he assures her with a smile. 

“Thanks,” she smiles back, happy that he doesn’t seem defensive and understands her hesitation. 

Clarke turns back to Bellamy once Gabriel hoists Josephine up, carrying her up their stairs bridal style. The party has died down, half of its attendees passed out in various rooms around the house, the other half having either stumbled home or called Ubers. 

“You can stay here, if you want,” Bellamy offers. Clarke doesn’t even have a chance to respond before he doubles back, nervously running a hand through his hair. “That wasn’t like a - you can have my bed and I can take the floor.”

Clarke smirks at this new side of him - nervous and unsure. “Okay, thanks.”

Bellamy exhales dramatically, like he was holding his breath. Clarke follows him to his room, the first time venturing into the upstairs level of their small two-bedroom rental house. There’s a small landing with three doors - the bathroom door is opened and true to his word, so is Gabriel’s. Josie is passed out in what Clarke assumes is his over-sized sweatshirt. She shakes her head at her cousin before following Bellamy into the third room.

“Do you want something to sleep in?” he asks. 

“Sure, thank you,” she responds. She’s still wearing a damp swimsuit under her sundress, Bellamy’s flannel left somewhere in the house when the heat got too much for her. 

Clarke tries not to be too obvious as she glances around his room while he rummages through a dresser drawer. The room is small, barely fitting the dresser, nightstand, and double bed, with a single window on one of the walls. His nightstand has a few books piled on top of it, as does his dresser, which is probably the least surprising thing she’s seen. 

“This should work,” he says, offering her a t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts. “The shorts are older, so hopefully they won’t be too big.”

“I’ll manage,” Clarke laughs, accepting the clothing from him. “Bathroom?”

“Second door,” he points. 

Clarke is quick using the bathroom, changing into the clothing and swishing some mouthwash as she does. She takes a single glance at herself, not wanting to dwell on how terrible she probably looks. Thankfully she knew not to wear eye makeup to the beach, so she doesn’t have raccoon eyes. But the rest of her makeup is long gone, her blonde waves messy and tangled. He was right in that the shorts are small enough to at least stay on her and she’s thankful that the t-shirt is big enough to hide the fact she’s not wearing a bra, since she didn’t think to bring one with her.

Bellamy isn’t there when she returns to his room. She hovers awkwardly for a moment, feeling strange about simply climbing into his bed, despite that it’s exactly what he offered. Shaking her head at herself, she realizes it will be more weird if she’s simply standing in the middle of his room, so she throws the blanket down and climbs in. It can’t be more than a second later that Bellamy walks in, wearing a t-shirt, gym shorts, and the same glasses he’s always wearing at the library. He’s carrying two large blankets, one of which he unfolds on the floor.

“All good?” he checks. 

“Yeah, thanks,” she nods.

“Throw me a pillow?”

Clarke leans over, tossing one at him, a little harder than necessary. Bellamy smirks at her when it hits him and she gives him a cheeky smile in return. 

“Trying to start a pillow fight? I don’t think you’d win.”

“Maybe another night,” she laughs, as Bellamy lays down the floor, the second blanket over him. He leans up to set his glasses on his nightstand before switching off the lamp on it. 

“Night, Clarke,” he says quietly, the room now dark.

“Night, Bellamy,” she offers, laying down on her side, still facing him. 

She lets her eyes rake over his dark silhouette, noting how he shifts as he tries to get comfortable on the hard floor. Maybe it’s what’s left of the alcohol in her system, but for whatever reason, she’s suddenly amused by the sight of the grown man sleeping on the floor. She can’t stop the giggle that slips through her lips.

He turns to face her but she can’t see what she’s sure is amusement in his eyes. “Something funny, _Princess_?”

“This is stupid, you don’t have to sleep on the floor.” 

“I really don’t mind,” he assures her, voice genuine. 

“Neither do I - really, it’s fine. We’re just sleeping.”

Bellamy hesitates and Clarke takes the opportunity to move over to the other side of the bed, taking her pillow with her. Without a word, he concedes, climbing into the bed next to her with the pillow from the floor. 

“My back will thank you tomorrow,” he chuckles, once he lays back down on his side, facing her.

Clarke mirrors his posture. There’s something about him this close to her, sharing warmth under the same blanket, that has her heart beating wildly. She briefly wonders if he can hear it. Following instinct, letting her body take the lead, she finds herself shifting closer to him. He says nothing - doesn’t move closer or further from her - and soon enough she’s a breath away from him. They aren’t touching, but the space between them might as well not exist. 

“Clarke,” he murmurs, after what feels like an eternity but was probably only a matter of seconds. She hums in response.

“I really want to kiss you,” he admits, voice still quiet. The humor is gone from it.

Bellamy doesn’t respond to her breath hitching. He only waits patiently, until Clarke leans in closer, pressing her chest and her lips against his own. Responding immediately, Bellamy’s hands move to cradle her face, his slightly chapped lips hot as he moves them against hers. Clarke has kissed a handful of people before, but it’s never been like this - she’s never felt so hungry, so desperate to be impossibly close to him. 

Bellamy sighs into her mouth and Clarke takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss. She only has to open her mouth slightly for Bellamy to understand, his tongue easily sliding in to explore hers. His hands slide down to her waist as hers move up to tug at his curls, eliciting a noise from him that makes heat coil in Clarke’s lower abdomen. Just as Clarke tries to pull Bellamy even closer, suddenly feeling the overwhelming need to have his weight on top of her, he breaks the kiss. Breathless and panting, he stares down into her eyes. Even in the dark, the intensity of his gaze makes her stomach flip more wildly than before, which she hadn’t thought was possible. He smirks, but it somehow comes off more soft than cocky.

“Let’s go to sleep, Princess,” he says, pinching her side. It takes a moment for her mind to catch up with her body, but she’s suddenly relieved he cut short whatever _that_ was. She doesn’t trust that she wouldn’t have jumped into a situation she wasn’t ready for, but somehow, Bellamy seemed to know that.

“Stop _calling_ me that,” she laughs, shoving him away. The mood already feels lighter. 

Before she can move further away, he tickles her side, pulling her towards him, her back pressed to his chest. 

“Never,” he laughs, lips next to her ear. Their laughter dies down, but neither of them moves. 

“This okay?” he whispers, arm locked around her center. 

“Yeah,” she murmurs. 

“Night, Clarke.”

“Night, Bellamy.”

It’s the first time she falls asleep in Bellamy Blake’s arms, but far from the last.

\--∞--

Clarke nervously cracks her knuckles as she makes her way up the Library steps, still in her school uniform, backpack over her shoulders. She tells herself she has nothing to be nervous about, but her body betrays her mind’s logic. Pulling open the door, she smiles at the librarian at the front desk before taking the familiar route to the tables. Bellamy is already sitting there, as expected, glasses on and typing furiously on his laptop. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. 

_Act normal, act normal, act normal_ , she reminds herself, on a loop, until she’s in front of Bellamy.

“Hey,” she greets him, setting her backpack down and sliding into the chair across from him.

“Hey,” he responds, offering a smile over his laptop. 

Clarke takes out her own laptop and begins working like normal. Over the next few hours, Clarke mindlessly reviews notes, reading everything three times before it sinks in, if it does at all. Okay, so everything is truly _normal_ . Like nothing happens. Maybe they’ll just pretend the kiss never did happen. Maybe the kiss _didn’t_ happen. Maybe she had more to drink than she thought and hallucinated the whole damn thing.

Her mind reviews the events of the night and the following morning on a loop. He was gone when she woke up - she found him making coffee in the kitchen, her hungover Josie sitting at the table with her head in her hands. Gabriel came downstairs a few minutes later and drove them home after that. Clarke had offered Bellamy a half wave and...well, and that was it. 

By the time 6:30pm rolls around when Bellamy always heads out, he closes his laptop. She pretends to be _very_ focused on the textbook in front of her, expecting Bellamy to continue packing up his belongings. Instead, she feels a gently kick under the table. Her face pops up to realize he’s already looking at her. He’s smiling, a now familiar amused glint in his dark eyes.

“Go on a date with me.”

Of all the things she expected Bellamy might say, it wasn’t that. She can’t help how her mouth gapes open on instinct. For his part, he just keeps smiling at her, waiting patiently for an answer.

“Okay,” she says a beat later, her open lips quirking into a small smile.

Bellamy’s smile grows into a larger grin. “Okay.”

* * *

It’s nearly 10pm when Clarke resolves to call it a night. She shuts the television off, suddenly feeling exhausted. The events of the last few days are catching up with her and she hopes she’ll be able to fall asleep quickly. All she wants to do is drift away into a dream where everything is less complicated. 

Clarke is walking from the living room to the winding staircase in their foyer when a knock on the front door startles her, making her physically jump. Her heart beats wildly as she walks over to the door, unsure of who could possibly be at their house at this hour. Being as inconspicuous as she can, she peers through the window next to the door, bewildered to find _Bellamy_ standing there, shifting nervously on his feet in an uncharacteristic way.

 _Well, maybe it’s not uncharacteristic_ , she reminds herself. _You don’t know him anymore._

She sighs in relief, her pulse stabilizing but her heart beating fast for a new reason altogether. Steeling herself, she attempts to school her face into a mask of indifference before she opens the door. Bellamy startles when she opens the door, as if he wasn’t the one who knocked.

“Bellamy?”

He looks lost. 

“Clarke, I’m sorry-”

“It’s not a good time - it’s late.”

He runs a shaky hand through his curls and something about the gesture makes Clarke’s heart clench painfully.

“I- you’re right. You’re right, I’m sorry. I didn’t have your number, and I...can we talk tomorrow? Grab coffee or something?”

Clarke hesitates, eyes running over him. She should say yes to that offer, sleep on this, make a detailed list of exactly what she wants to say during this conversation. But Bellamy always made her forget rationale, something that apparently hasn’t changed. 

“Come in,” she offers with a sigh, stepping aside and opening the door wider.

Bellamy hesitates, still not moving. “Are you sure?” he asks, after a beat.

Clarke nods. “My dad and Will are already asleep.”

Bellamy nods, accepting her offer by stepping into her house. She doesn’t say anything as she closes the front door behind him and walks towards the kitchen, but Bellamy follows her without question.

“I only have whiskey and red wine,” she offers, opening one of the cabinets. 

She looks over at him when he says nothing, brow raised.

“That’s okay-” he starts. 

He cuts himself off when his gaze meets hers. Probably because of the look she shoots him - as if to say, _Really? For this conversation? Yeah, right._

“Whiskey,” he concedes. 

She pulls out two lowball glasses, deciding on the spot that red wine isn’t going to cut it for her tonight either. The glasses of the top shelf whiskey she pours are generous, but she thinks that tonight warrants it. Clarke hands him one of the glasses before walking through the living room, picking up her cardigan off the couch before leading him onto their back patio. She flips on the bulb lights strung across the wall of the house, as well as the electric fire pit, before taking a seat in one of the lounge chairs positioned around the fire. Clarke’s faces the black ocean, rolling in the distance. She slides on her cardigan as Bellamy takes a seat in an adjacent chair, the September breeze coming off the ocean sending a wave of goosebumps up her arms. At least, she thinks they’re because of the ocean. 

Clarke takes a generous sip of her whiskey, relishing in the burn as it slides down her throat. Out of the corner of her eye, Clarke watches Bellamy take a sip of his own drink. He lets out something between a sigh and a groan as he leans back in the chair, staring up at the clear sky cloaked with bright stars. 

“Did you know, before I left?” he asks, eyes still trained on the sky. 

“Of course not.” 

As she takes another sip of the whiskey, he turns to look at her. She can’t meet his gaze, so she stares at the fire instead.

“It was too early, you had already been gone for over a month when I found out,” she continues, before pausing for a beat. She probably shouldn’t say the next part, but she does anyway. “I think it was...I think it was _that_ night.”

Clarke’s cheeks burn at the memory as she takes another sip. She might need a second drink.

“Well, that makes sense,” Bellamy responds easily. 

Clarke can’t help but let out a laugh at that, nearly choking on the whiskey. 

“ _What_?” she asks, finally turning to look at him. 

“It was a _really_ good night,” he smirks.

Clarke shakes her head at that, rolling her eyes but unable to stop the smile that escapes her at the memory. Same old Bellamy. At least, in some ways. She clears her throat, thinking over her next words. She can’t get sucked into some nostalgic conversation about their past - that’s not what this is.

“Would you have stayed? If you knew?”

All traces of his teasing smile instantly fall from his face. “I can’t believe you have to ask.”

Clarke only shrugs. “I thought so, but...I don’t know.”

Time has a way of chiseling away at logic, of letting the worst thoughts take root and flourish. The more time went by, the easier it was for Clarke to convince herself that he wouldn’t have cared at all. But that was only fear, tainting her memories of the man that she knew, deep down, he was. 

Bellamy doesn’t have anything to say to that, so she adds, “It’s been a really long time.” As if that might explain their missed perceptions of each other. If only it were that simple. 

This time it’s Bellamy who takes a generous gulp of his whiskey, his gaze drifting away from her and towards the fire.

“What’s he like?” he asks quietly, after a beat.

“Like you,” she immediately answers, before she can think better of it.

Bellamy huffs a sarcastic laugh. “I’m sure you loved that.”

“I did - I do. I missed you,” she murmurs. It’s a stupid thing to say, but it’s the truth.

Bellamy’s gaze snaps back to her at that, but Clarke abruptly stands before he has a chance to say anything. Bellamy looks mildly alarmed, moving to stand with her, as if he’s about to apologize for something. 

Clarke laughs lightly. “Sit down - I’ll be right back.”

A few minutes later, she returns to the patio and flips on a brighter light before walking back over to Bellamy. She hands him the photo album before she sits back down. She was never great at keeping and organizing photos, but she managed to put some of them into an album. She takes another sip of whiskey before speaking.

“It’s all out of order,” she warns as he opens it.

Bellamy is quiet as he opens the album, learning forward to peer closely at the photos. Clarke watches him as he watches the photos. His jaw clenches, as if he’s trying to contain the multitudes of emotion running through him. 

“So, besides _me_ , what is he like?” he asks, flipping to the next page of photos.

Clarke smiles as she thinks about her - _their_ \- son.

“Restless...like you. Outgoing and impulsive. Smart, too.”

Bellamy looks up from the photo album to smile at her. “That last trait is all you.”

Clarke hates that her cheeks flush at his compliment. She forces herself to keep talking when his eyes return to the photo album, as if she can physically push through all the ways he unravels her without even trying. 

“He’s kind - really, genuinely so,” she smiles. “I keep getting notes home, teachers’ reminders that he needs to mind his business and worry about himself. When I asked what his teachers were referring to, he just explained that he was standing up to bullies picking on other kids - so I’m still trying to figure out what to do with that one.”

Bellamy’s shoulders shake with laughter at the story as he flips to the next page of photos. When he does, he stills immediately, his body tensing in a way Clarke doesn't understand. She leans over the arm of her chair, trying to get a closer look at what he sees, biting down on her bottom lip when she notices the photo of a very pregnant her. She was nearly 8 months she thinks, if she’s remembering it correctly. There aren’t many photos of her pregnant - after all, she was supposed to be ashamed of it. She was the topic of gossip in all their social circles, much to the dismay of her Aunt Simone. 

Bellamy’s thumb runs over the photo. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs.

Clarke leans back into her chair again, desperately trying to put distance between them as she feels like she’s going to burst into tears. But Bellamy only flips to the next page of photos, as if nothing happened. As if he has no idea how much he affects her. 

They’re quiet as Bellamy flips through the rest of the photo album, taking his time. Clarke is surprised that the silence isn’t really awkward at all, even after everything. Maybe because the emotions individually running through the two of them are too intense, too consuming, for something as fleeting as awkwardness to take root.

“I want to be in his life,” he says quietly, closing the photo album.

Clarke eyes him carefully. “Are you going to stay?”

Bellamy looks up at her and she digs her nails into her palm to keep her breath from catching. 

“I already told Kane I’m transferring to the Arkadia office.”

“Kane,” Clarke echos, realization washing over her. “You’re working for Kane.”

Bellamy offers her a wry smile. “I finally caved,” he admits. 

Clarke’s expression softens. “Why did you?” she prompts gently. 

She can’t count the times that Bellamy had resisted his uncle’s pressure to join the Navy, which was why she couldn’t believe it when she found out _that_ was what he left to do all those years ago. But to then join his naval consulting firm...that was an entirely new level of shocking. 

Bellamy sets the photo album on the small table beside him, taking a sip of his whiskey before answering. He sighs, leaning back in his chair. Part of her wants to assure him he doesn’t have to talk about it, but if they’re going to do this - if he’s going to stay - these are things they need to talk about. There are things she needs to know. 

“When I enlisted, I was just going to stay for the three years, just long enough to get the full GI bill benefits - and I did. I thought I would just do my time and apply for schools and…” he trails off, turning to look towards the ocean, as if ashamed to face her. “I don’t know. By the time I got out, I had hardly been writing during those three years and found myself wondering what the point was. And there was Kane, in DC, offering a heavy paycheck if I put on a suit, and I just...it was just easy.”

When Clarke doesn’t say anything, he finally turns back to face her. “Did you ever...did you go to Yale?”

Clarke quickly shakes her head. “I had the idea for the shop when Will was one or so, so I started taking some online business classes. Wells helped a lot.”

“Will,” Bellamy repeats, the other pieces of the sentence momentarily forgotten. He swallows thickly. “You named him after my dad.”

Clarke nods. “It just - it felt right.”

An awkward beat of silence falls on them before Bellamy pushes forward. 

“It’s really great, what you’ve done there - with the shop,” he offers.

Clarke runs a nervous hand through her hair. “Thanks. It makes me happy, and surprisingly, is actually successful.”

Bellamy shakes his head, offering a soft smile. “Not surprising at all.”

“Well, you were right about that at least - about med school.”

Bellamy’s smile fades. “Clarke, I shouldn’t have-”

Clarke quickly shakes her head, cutting him off. “I don’t - I don’t want to talk about that right now. Not tonight.”

Bellamy nods before downing the rest of his drink. He inhales a deep breath after he does, as if steeling himself for what he needs to say next.

“I’m serious about...about Will.” The name sounds strange coming from him. “I’m not leaving, and I want to be in his life in whatever way you’ll let me. I want to - I want to be his father. But if we need to move slowly, take our time getting there, I understand.”

Clarke can’t help but smirk. “That might be the most reasonable thing you’ve ever said.”

Bellamy’s own smirk mirrors hers. “Don’t get used to it.”

“I won’t,” she agrees.

Bellamy stares at her for a beat before clearing his throat. “I should get going.”

Clarke nods, moving to stand, but Bellamy shakes his head. “I can show myself out - I remember the way.”

Clarke nods again, settling back into her chair. She can’t help but watch Bellamy as he slides open the patio door. 

“You’re different,” she observes.

Bellamy pauses, turning to her again with his hand still on the door handle. “In a lot of ways, I hope,” he agrees, offering a sheepish smile. 

Clarke lets her eyes run over him again, following some innate need to memorize him, her body not quite believing his promise to stay. 

“We both made mistakes,” she offers. 

Bellamy only nods before disappearing into her dark house.

* * *

**~7 YEARS AGO**

The snow falls heavily outside of Bellamy’s living room window, him and Gabriel’s rainbow Christmas lights strung outside reflecting off the thick white blanket already settled over the ground. Clarke tries to focus on _Home Alone_ , but she’s sitting with her legs in Bellamy’s lap and he keeps mindlessly running his hand across her calf. It’s driving her just a little insane, but her boyfriend seems none the wiser.

 _Boyfriend_ . Even after nearly three months together, the title still feels a little strange to Clarke, if only because he’s the only boyfriend she’s ever had. Still, she certainly likes the title. She likes the possessiveness of it. Clarke wants Bellamy as _hers_ because in only three months, he’s quickly become her favorite person. 

There’s just something about Bellamy that makes it easy for her to open up to in a way she never has with anyone else - not even Wells, not even Josie. She thinks it’s the same for him, even if he was less closed off than her to begin with. 

Clarke confessed the heavy weight of responsibility she feels for her father and he did the same, confiding in her about how he feels like he’s had to step into his father’s shoes when he died. He talks to her about his writing and she talks to him about her art, and the two of them paint and write a strange world together that only they can comprehend. They understand each other in a way others don’t - the way they dream, the way they think like artists and translate the world in a way that others can’t see or hear. 

A gentle poke to her stomach snaps Clarke out of her reverie and makes her realize she had been staring at him instead of the screen. He’s now smirking at her, clearly amused, but she can see how his eyes have darkened. His hand tightens on her calf. 

“How’s the movie, Princess?” he teases.

Clarke stopped yelling at Bellamy for calling her that a long time ago. Now, her stomach swoops instead - probably because, like _boyfriend_ , there’s now a sense of possessiveness to the word. Clarke offers a smirk in return but says nothing before she crawls onto his lap, straddling him on the couch. 

“Hi,” she murmurs, running her fingers through his curls. 

“Hi,” he whispers, his warm hands trailing up her thighs and landing on the bare skin of her waist under her cable knit sweater. 

Clarke leans down, closing the short distance between them and capturing his lips with her own. They’re warm and perfect as they move against hers. She moans when she opens her mouth against his, tasting his tongue as both her heart and center throb more intensely. The making out is far from new, and neither is the way that she grinds against him in his lap. But in their three months together, they haven’t gone further than this. 

Clarke keeps waiting for Bellamy to try something, or even _say_ something - she would understand if he did. Bellamy is 22 and probably used to moving a lot faster than they currently are. Yet, not once has he pressured her. He only follows her lead, only makes her feel safe. But tonight, her hunger feels more intense. Tonight, she wants more.

Clarke pulls away, lips still only a few inches from his. Her eyes lock with his black ones, his lips swollen from the last ten minutes. 

“I want you to touch me,” she manages to murmur, even though her cheeks feel like they’re on fire when she says it. She can only imagine the kind of blush he’s looking at given her pale complexion. It gives her away every time. 

Bellamy curses under his breath before pulling her down for another kiss. This time, one of his hands moves from her waist to between her legs. She whimpers as he traces the seam of her jeans over her center with a firm finger and feels Bellamy grow harder beneath her. His own breath becomes labored before he kisses her with more intensity. Clarke breaks the kiss as he continues to rub her over her jeans, forehead dropping to rest against his as she grasps at his shoulders. She gasps when he puts more pressure on her clit, the sensation surprisingly intense given the fabric between his fingers and her. 

“Want to go upstairs?” he murmurs, his hand leaving her, combing through her hair instead. He sounds a little breathless himself. “I don’t know when Gabe will be home.”

Clarke doesn’t mean to tense at the suggestion, but her nerves reveal themselves before she can mask them. She hasn’t been in his bedroom since that first night in September, and although she wants _something_ , she doesn’t think she’s ready for _everything_.

“Hey,” he murmurs, running the back of his fingers across her cheek. “Nothing you don’t want to do. No pressure.”His signature smirk reemerges. “Only whatever the hell you want, Princess.”

Clarke can’t help but laugh, already feeling less nervous.

“Okay,” she agrees.

“Okay,” he repeats, giving her a single peck on the lips.

Clarke moves to climb off him, but he pulls her back to him and lifts her in one easy motion, eliciting something between a giggle and scream from her. She wraps her legs tighter around his center as he makes his way to the stairs, burying her face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in. He tosses her onto the bed, drawing another round of giggles from her as he closes the door behind them. In the next second, Bellamy is climbing over her, leaning down to kiss her again. He settles between her legs, which bracket his hips, and for a few minutes, they only make out. His hands roam her body as they do, moving up the outside of her thighs and waist, grazing her breasts over her sweater, but not giving them nearly enough attention.

“Want me to touch you, huh?” he whispers against her lips.

“Uh huh,” she whines, incapable of managing a more intelligent response. 

Bellamy kisses her again as his hand trails under her sweater, squeezing her breast once before trailing lower.

“Can I take these off?” he asks, fingers lingering over the button of her jeans. 

Clarke nods fervently, her center already throbbing. 

“I’ll make you feel so good, baby,” he murmurs, unbuttoning her jeans. Somewhat ungracefully, he helps her slide them off, tossing them on the floor beside his bed. 

His hands run up the outside of her thighs, which spread wider on instinct. Before she can overthink it, she pulls her sweater over her head, leaving her in her bra and underwear. Bellamy’s expression makes her giggle, which draws a smile out of him in response.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he breathes, before leaning down to kiss her again. 

As they kiss, Clarke pulls on the bottom of his own sweater, very much needing him shirtless too. Once he gets the hint, he pushes up to pull it off, throwing both his sweater and undershirt on the floor next to her jeans before leaning down to kiss her again. This time it’s a quick kiss and he breaks it much sooner than Clarke would prefer, propping himself on his forearms. 

“Can I go down on you?” he asks. 

The breathlessness in his voice has her enthusiastically nodding in a way that draws a chuckle from Bellamy. His lips trail down her neck, her chest, her soft stomach and her hips. She’s nearly squirming by the time he hooks his fingers under the band of her underwear and pulls them off of her. He looks up at her once more as he spreads her legs wider. 

“You good, babe?”

Something in the way he calls her babe - something in the way it’s so casual, so... _normal_ has her need for him intensifying. 

“Yeah,” she whispers, holding his eye contact as he begins pressing hot, open-mouth kisses up her inner thighs. 

“Please, Bell,” she whines, his breath hot against her center.

He looks up at her, doesn’t break eye contact as his tongue swipes up her folds. She gasps, fingers threading through his curls on instinct. 

_God she loves him_ , she thinks.

It’s not an ideal moment to realize it, but she doesn’t question it. Sure, he’s driving her insane as he licks into her, tongue swiping rhythmically over her clit, but she knows it isn’t just this. She loves him - everything he is. She almost wishes it scared her, but it doesn’t. She just - she just wants him. She wants to be completely wrapped in him. She wants everything with him. 

Clarke is squirming, writhing under his touch when he presses a finger into her. He lets her get used to the sensation, skillfully pumping it in and out of her as she begins to pant and moan. She only lasts a few minutes after he curls a second finger into her, her grip on his curls tightening as she writhes under him, panting his name as she falls over the edge. 

Bellamy eases her down from her orgasm, pressing slow kisses up her body once his fingers leave her. He strokes her side, gaze bearing down on her as he takes in her flushed face and messy waves. 

“You good?”

Clarke smiles, rolling her eyes playfully. “I’m more than good.”

Bellamy leans down to kiss her, and she can feel him hard against her thigh. She lets her hand trail from his waist to palm him over his jeans, drawing a groan from him.

“Can I?” she asks, lips brushing against his.

“Only if you want to. This isn’t a transaction, I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I do want to,” she assures him, stroking him. His eyes squeeze shut, his hand tightening on her waist. 

Bellamy walks Clarke through her first blow job that night. She’s surprised at how much she likes it, and has a feeling it has a lot to do with the way Bellamy grips her hair, continuously murmuring praise.

_That’s it._

_That’s so good, babe. Fuck, that’s good._

_Good girl, just like that._

When he calls her good girl, her stomach swoops dramatically. He warns her before he comes, but she feels a strange sense of determination to swallow everything he gives her. As soon as he comes back to reality, Bellamy pulls her back up to him, wrapping his arms around her. She can feel his heart beating wildly where his chest is pressed against her back. 

“Bellamy?”

“Hmm?” he hums happily, his hand stroking across her stomach. She took her bra off before going down on him, wanting to enhance his view, and it strikes her that she doesn’t feel uncomfortable at all about being completely naked with him.

“I love you,” she says quietly. 

There’s a long beat of silence and she curses herself for revealing it so early, even if it is completely true. But then she thinks, _fuck it_. Why should she hide how she feels? 

Clarke laughs, knowing it sounds stilted. “I know I’m not supposed to say that right after...well, it’s the truth. So I wanted to say it anyway.”

Bellamy turns her so that she’s laying on her back, looking up at him. She expects to see a look of horror, or fear, but he looks...giddy. 

“And that - right there - is exactly why I love you too,” he tells her, leaning down to kiss her. 

Clarke’s fingers thread through his curls again and she knows she’ll never get enough of it.

“You love me because I blurt things at inappropriate times?” she laughs. 

Bellamy smiles warmly at her, not a trace of his cocky smirk. “No. I love you because you always speak your mind - because you’re always... _you_.”

Clarke snuggles into him, unable to provide a coherent response to his words. She nearly falls asleep to the sound of his steady heartbeat, her ear pressed to his chest, but he gently jostles her awake to ask if she wants to stay the night. 

Bellamy finds Clarke something to wear to bed as she texts her father that she’s spending the night at Wells’s house. She knows he won’t follow up with the Jaha’s and for once, she’s happy that her only parent is a walking ghost. It means she can sleep at her boyfriend’s house without a care in the world.

Bellamy brings her a large flannel and he pulls a pair of sweatpants on, not bothering with a shirt. He holds her in his arms as she drifts off to sleep that night, not unlike that first night in September, all those months ago. This time, it’s so much better. 

* * *

“You’ve been glued to your phone for an hour,” Josie complains. “Who are you talking to?”

“No one,” Clarke lies, not feeling like making the effort to come up with anything more. 

Her cousin rolls her eyes from where she’s sipping on her coffee at one of _Abigail’s_ cafe tables. Clarke sets her phone down, busying herself behind the cafe counter. Emori huffs a laugh from beside her, but says nothing. 

“She’s talking to her baby daddy,” Murphy smirks, walking into the cafe with a box full of utensils. 

Clarke glares at him, shooting him a pointed look. Still, Josie looks unsurprised.

“No shit,” Josie responds. “I just want to hear her admit it.”

“You guys are all insufferable,” Clarke complains, picking up her phone anyways. She feels all their eyes on her as she answers Bellamy, confirming their Saturday plans.

“So what’s the deal?” Josie asks. “Are you guys already banging again?”

“It’s not like that,” she insists. “He says he’s staying and wants to be in Will’s life...so that’s all that’s happening, that’s it.”

Josie raises an eyebrow at that. “Just _Will’s_ life? You sure about that?”

Clarke gives her another pointed look, although it’s useless, she knows. Her cousin has never had boundaries and Clarke isn’t sure why she hoped that this would be any different.

“Yes, just _Will’s_ life. I mean, I guess mine by extension of Will’s - but that’s it.”

“Doubtful,” Josie scoffs. 

“Will you knock it off?” Clarke sighs. Murphy chuckles somewhere behind her. “And can we change the topic, _please_?”

Josie ignores the request, unsurprisingly. “So what’s the deal? When are you seeing him again?”

“We’re grabbing coffee and taking Will to the playground on Saturday. Just - something casual, so they can meet. For now...he’s just an old friend of mine. I want to ease him into this.”

“We should invite him to Friday dinner!” Josie suggests, eyes lighting up at her ill-advised idea.

“No,” Clarke quickly snaps, a little too desperately. “I’m not ready for that,” she adds, more calmly. Josie of all people should know how hard this is for her, but that’s never stopped her cousin from meddling. 

Their friends all have a potluck dinner once a month, on the first Friday. It consists of Gabe and Josie, Murphy and Emori, Wells and Raven, and Monty and Harper, who went to school with Wells and Raven. All couples, except Clarke, but she’s used to it at this point. It’s not that she hasn’t had relationships since Bellamy left, it’s just that none of them stuck.

“Oh, come on,” Josie starts. “Everyone else has to meet him still. These two,” she says, gesturing at Murphy and Emori, “And Raven, Monty, and Harper too. It’ll be-”

“Absolutely not,” Clarke argues. “It’s too soon.”

Josie purses her lips, giving her an annoyed glare, but concedes a moment later. “ _Fine_.”

\--∞--

Clarke sighs as she gets into the elevator of the downtown mid-rise apartment building that Raven and Wells live in. They alternate dinner locations between the three couples, but always skip Clarke’s house since she still lives with her father and always has Madi babysit Will for these dinners. 

Once the doors open, she walks down the familiar hallway of the top floor, clutching the wine tote filled with several bottles - they’ve stopped asking her to contribute food years ago. This dinner will be good for her, she thinks. She’s nervous about the next day and generally stressed over the events of the last week. A distraction is just what she needs. 

Clarke doesn’t bother knocking before she lets herself in, knowing the door will be unlocked.

“Hellllooo,” she sings, announcing herself as she walks into the apartment.

Clarke stops short when she sees the back of his head - undoubtedly his dark curls and broad shoulders. A general sense of grief and nerves at his presence and sharp anger at Josie battle for dominance inside of her. Everyone turns to look at her before she can mask either emotion, Bellamy included. He’s holding a bottle of beer, standing next to Gabriel, looking a little sheepish.

“Bellamy,” Clarke starts, swallowing. “I didn’t know you’d be here,” she adds, giving Josie pointed look rather than meeting Bellamy’s gaze. 

Josie, unlike Bellamy, doesn’t hold a hint of sheepishness in her expression. 

“I thought it would be a great place for him to meet everyone,” she shrugs, as if the conversation the previous morning where Clarke specifically told her _no_ never happened at all. If Clarke is being honest with herself, she should have expected this. She should have known better.

“Let’s open the wine,” Harper starts, changing the topic as smoothly as she can manage. 

Clarke follows Harper into the kitchen, sparing one more glance at Bellamy before she does. Raven is on Clarke’s heels, but everyone else stays behind in the living room, returning to their conversations. 

“So _that’s_ Bellamy?” Raven says quietly, pulling out a bottle of Cabernet to open. Harper works on a bottle of Pinot Grigio while Clarke unpacks the rest, setting a few on the counter.

“That’s him,” she responds shortly, opening the fridge to put away two bottles of white wines.

“We didn’t know either,” Harper quickly assures her. “Not until he showed up, which was only fifteen minutes ago.”

Clarke sighs, shutting the fridge door and facing her friends. “I know. I doubt Josie even told Gabe he was coming.”

“Are you going to be alright?” Harper prompts.

“Yeah, as soon as Raven pours me generous glass of the Cab,” Clarke smirks, attempting to appear more nonchalant than she feels. 

Raven grins widely as she pours the wine and Clarke attempts to force herself to relax. She can push through this tonight. It doesn’t need to be a big deal - it’s not like Will is here. It’s only about Clarke and her own frail feelings. 

Clarke heads to the living room, taking a seat in a lounge chair at the opposite side of the room from Bellamy, while Harper and Raven bring out glasses of wine to those who don’t have drinks yet before joining the group. Wells and Gabriel know Bellamy, although they haven’t kept in touch with him anymore than Clarke has, but it still makes it easier to make small talk. Monty and Harper are as pleasant as always and even Raven and Emori make an effort to bring Bellamy into the conversation. Only Murphy remains as quiet as Clarke, seemingly observing the evening unfold with overly amused eyes. At one point, he shoots a smirk at Clarke, to which Clarke responds with a pointed glare. She’s giving out a lot of those recently. 

About an hour after she arrives, everyone migrates to the small dining room and begins to lay the food across the table. Clarke begins to follow them, ignoring that Bellamy is purposely hanging back. But when he calls her name, she can’t help but turn and face him.

“I’m sorry,” he starts. “Josie invited me, so I thought it was okay-”

Bellamy cuts himself off at Clarke’s pointed look, as if to remind him that he should know better to take Josie’s word at face value. Bellamy sighs, not refuting the sentiment, and shifts nervously on his feet for a moment.

“Is there a reason you didn’t want me here?”

It’s Clarke’s turn to shift nervously, crossing her arms and glancing down at their feet. 

“It’s just a lot...having you back. It still hurts.”

“Do you want me to go?” Bellamy asks. To his credit, Clarke knows the question is sincere, not a manipulative attempt to stay. Clarke hesitates, truly thinking over the question. Bellamy waits patiently. 

“No,” she says finally. “You’re here now. Just - check with _me_ next time, okay?”

“Of course,” Bellamy nods, shoulders relaxing. 

Clarke forces a smile, although it isn’t a completely fabricated one, no matter how much she wishes it was. For better or worse, he’s already chiseling down her carefully constructed walls. 

“C’mon, let’s go eat,” she says, nodding towards the dining room. 

Bellamy doesn’t respond, but he follows her lead.

* * *

**~7 YEARS AGO**

Clarke giggles as Bellamy nibbles on her ear before working his way down her neck. Being under Bellamy is Clarke’s favorite place to be, especially on a cold night like this. Bellamy has her caged under him on the expensive leather sofa in her house’s den, the fireplace crackling and the snow falling outside. It’s only a few days after Christmas and Clarke is enjoying spending most of the strange, timeless week between Christmas and New Year’s with Bellamy. She invited him to her house, surprisingly a first for them, when she found out that her father was going to dinner with her aunt, uncle, and other friends from the country club. She knows that her aunt dragged her father to the dinner, despite his protests, and for once, Clarke was glad for it. She wanted the house to herself, and more than that, she was starting to understand that her aunt’s attempts to get her father out of the house were driven by good intentions. 

Bellamy got out of work late, and had only arrived an hour ago, but it was only 8pm, so Clarke figures they have the whole night ahead of them. As their makeout session intensifies, Clarke’s hands thread through Bellamy’s curls, pulling on them slightly and eliciting something like a growl from him. He grips her hip with one hand, stroking her bare stomach under her sweater with his thumb while his other hand wanders up to give her breast a gentle squeeze over her bra. Bellamy, as if sensing her need from her increased squirming, repositions himself so that his knee is pressed against her center. Clarke moans as she grinds against him, so lost in the rise of her pleasure that she nearly misses the sound of the front door opening.

Bellamy jumps off her as if burned, both immediately scrambling to fix their clothing and hair, although there’s little to be done about their swollen lips or Bellamy’s tented jeans. 

“Shit,” he curses.

He does his best to readjust himself, following Clarke out of the room, making sure to stand behind her. Clarke bites down a giggle as they make their way to the front of the house when she hears Bellamy muttering to himself. She thinks she hears the words _nursing homes_. When they walk into the foyer, she finds her Aunt Simone with her father, both of them taking their snow-dusted coats off. 

_Oh great_ , she thinks. _This is worse than I thought_. 

Her father is looking at her with curious eyes, but not judgmental ones. Simone, on the other hand, looks up at them with sharp assessing eyes that dart between the two of them, eyebrows raised. The thing is, in the months they had been dating, Clarke had failed to mention anything about the existence of Bellamy to her family. She’s not sure her dad would have an opinion on Bellamy one way or another, but she knew with certainty that Simone would disapprove of Bellamy. She knows Simone will hate everything from his age to his lack of degree - or more generally, that the Blakes aren’t one of the families at the club. 

There’s an unfairness to all of it, given that Simone still doesn’t know about Gabriel. But to Josephine’s credit, she would have already thought of a lie by now, or just been more careful in the first place. Clarke has never had it in her to play those games.

Clarke clears her throat. “Dad, Aunt Simone, this is Bellamy - my boyfriend.”

For his part, Bellamy immediately steps forward, hand outstretched to her father. “Nice to meet you, Sir.”

Clarke sighs in relief when her father smiles warmly at him, shaking his hand. “It’s great to meet you. You’ll have to join us for dinner one night.”

Bellamy nods again, relaxing a bit. “That would be great,” he smiles. “Thank you.”

Simone is still looking at him with predatory eyes that Clarke wishes she could shield him from. “Does you family belong to the club?”

“No, ma’am,” Bellamy answers shortly. 

“Well, even so, Clarke can bring guests.” Simone turns from Bellamy to Clarke. “You’ll bring him to the New Year’s Eve gala this week,” she tells her - a command, not a question.

“Oh, well, we have other plans,” Clarke starts, looking towards her father. Her eyes plead with him for assistance, but he doesn’t seem to understand the plea.

“Plans like tonight?” Simone questions. “Unsupervised plans?”

Clarke clenches her jaw, unsure of what to say. 

“No,” Clarke lies. All of their plans would be considered unsupervised to her aunt.

“Why don’t you swing by for just a little while?” her father suggests, finally stepping in. 

Clarke sighs, conceding. She looks to Bellamy, hoping he sees the apology in her eyes. “Would that be okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” he assures her, forcing a smile.

“Well, that’s settled then,” Simone announces, plastering a smile on her face that doesn’t reach her eyes. “It’s getting late though, perhaps Bellamy should get going.” 

“I’ll show you out,” Clarke tells him. Bellamy offers her dad and aunt a nod and smile before following Clarke towards the front door. 

“I’m so sorry,” Clarke starts, as soon as they’re out of earshot. Bellamy and Gabriel were _hosting_ the New Year’s Eve party at the shack, and now Bellamy was going to be late for his own party.

Bellamy chuckles, taking her face in his warm hands and pressing a quick kiss to her lips. “It’s okay - we’ll just duck out early.”

Clarke nods. “I’ll talk to Josie, I’m sure she’s already days into some long drawn out plan that ends with her unable to go to the club and slipping out her window.”

Bellamy laughs. “Sounds good. I love you.”

“Love you too,” Clarke tells him, opening the door for him.

She sighs as she watches him walk into the dark night, their driveway lanterns casting a soft glow that reflects off the snow still steadily falling. She wishes more than anything he could stay.

Clarke hears their combative voices coming from the kitchen as soon as she’s halfway there. It’s mostly her aunt’s voice, berating her father, although she knows to expect a similar lecture from her aunt. Clarke leans against the hallway wall next to the kitchen doorway, arms crossed protectively over her chest, silently listening.

“You didn’t even know your daughter has a boyfriend? Do you even know anything about that boy?”

Clarke hears her father sigh. “Simone, she’s seventeen. Of course she has a boyfriend, you’re overreacting.”

“I’m overreacting? You’re okay with her alone in this house with a boy? With her getting into trouble?”

“Of course not. I’ll have a conversation with her about the rules.”

“That is an unspoken rule, one your daughter took advantage of because she knew you would overlook it.”

Clarke swallows thickly, feeling guilty at the truth of her aunt’s words. Her father doesn’t have the chance to respond before her aunt is plowing ahead.

“You need to be more strict, set more rules for your daughter. It’s for her own good.”

Clarke wants to laugh at the irony of that statement, at her aunt’s ignorance of her own daughter expertly flaunting every rule with every opportunity she has. 

“Don’t tell me what’s good for my own daughter,” her father snaps, uncharacteristically harsh. It does nothing to deter her aunt.

“Oh I will tell you, Jake - because you think that putting a roof over her head and food on the table and school tuition is enough, but it is _not_. You have let her do whatever she’s wanted her whole life, because you think it’ll make up for Abbey.”

“Don’t-” her father warns.

Clarke blinks away tears. She sees the snowy road and dark sky. She can hear the exact song that was playing on the radio - _Dreams_ by the Cranberries - intermingled with screeching tires and grinding gravel. 

“You’ve been lucky that she’s been so good-tempered all these years, but she is testing you. You need to respond to that, you need to-”

“I’m sorry,” Clarke interrupts, stepping into the kitchen. She can’t hear anymore of this. Swallowing her tears so that her father won’t feel bad, she forces her voice to steady. “I’m sorry - I know I should have asked if Bellamy could come over. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

Her father leans back against the counter and Clarke knows that he’ll be out the next day with one of his migraines. Her aunt looks less than impressed with the apology. 

“Sit,” Simone commands, pointing at one of the stools at the kitchen island, across from the side she’s leaning forward on. Clarke complies.

“Tell us about this boy.”

Clarke sighs, once again wishing she had the gut for lying like her cousin does. The only lying she can manage is the kind that protects others, like that same cousin.

“We met at the library, in September,” she starts.

“You’ve been dating this boy for three months, and didn’t say a word? Why not? What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing is _wrong_ with him!” she yells, exasperated. 

“Is he at Arkadia Central?”

Clarke digs her nails into her palm, her hands clasped together on her lap. This is only going to get worse. 

“No - not anymore.” Clarke takes a deep breath, steeling herself. “He’s 22, and works as a bartender. He wants to be a writer-”

“22 years old? And no school?”

Her aunt looks on the verge of a heart attack. She shoots her father a dramatic look of despair.

“You’re not to see this boy anymore,” she snaps when she turns back to Clarke.

“Dad,” Clarke pleas, tears filling her eyes. 

“I think we may be getting ahead of ourselves,” her father tells her aunt. Clarke feels a touch of relief.

“Jake, you cannot be serious.”

“I think,” he starts, turning his attention away from his sister and towards his daughter. “Why don’t we agree, no more unsupervised time at the house? And we’ll get to know him more, starting at the gala.”

Simone looks furious. “You can’t see the holes in this plan? What about this 22 year old’s house, hm?” She angrily gathers her purse off the counter. “This is how girls end up in trouble,” she tells them before storming out of the kitchen, her words both a warning and a goodbye.

The silence that settles over their large kitchen has Clarke fidgeting, unsure of what to say to her father. 

“Your aunt worries out of love,” he finally says. 

Clarke wants to ask if he ignores out of love, but she doesn’t. “I know,” she says instead. 

Her father nods, walks over to give her a quick kiss on the crown of her head. 

“I love you, sweetheart.” 

He doesn’t say anything more before leaving her in the kitchen, presumably headed to his office to bury his feelings in his work like usual or maybe even to bed, if she’s right about the incoming migraine. Clarke heads to her own room, changing into a pair of leggings and a cotton tank top before dialing Josie’s number.

\--∞--

Clarke hurries down the hallway and towards the staircase as soon as she hears the doorbell ring, not wanting to leave Bellamy alone with her father for longer than necessary. Thankfully, as she watches them while carefully making her way down the winding staircase in her heels, it doesn’t seem like they’re having any issues making small talk. It shouldn’t surprise her, given how personable and outgoing Bellamy is.

Clarke can’t help but smile when she reaches the bottom of the stairs and Bellamy’s gaze snaps towards her, drinking her in with dark eyes. She hates these kinds of formal events, but she can’t deny that she loves the way that he’s looking at her right now - like he wants to worship her and devour her all at once. She’s wearing an off-the-shoulder maroon velvet gown that shows off just enough cleavage to be both classy and teasing, the skirt long and swaying at her ankles. 

“You look beautiful,” he stutters. 

Clarke offers a small smile, giving him a chaste kiss on the cheek as a greeting. 

“I’ll pull the car around,” her dad tells them, excusing himself.

Clarke takes her father’s absence as an opportunity to really look at her boyfriend. It’s the first time she’s seeing him in a suit, and her stomach swoops, heat coiling inside her at the sight of him. He’s even attempted to tame his curls. Clarke prefers them wild, but she smiles at the effort.

“This okay?” he asks nervously, straightening his jacket.

“It’s perfect,” she smiles, pressing another kiss to his cheek. 

“Shit,” she giggles immediately, realizing that she left an imprint of her red lipstick on his cheek. 

Bellamy laughs with her as she sticks her finger in her mouth, using her spit to rub the mark off his cheek.

“So we just stick it out for a few hours, and then slip out to the party,” Clarke says, reviewing their plan. 

Her father’s headlights shine through the window, interrupting the conversation.

“It’s okay, really,” Bellamy assures her as he helps her into her coat. He squeezes her hand once before opening the door for her, and she already feels more at ease.

\--∞--

Clarke keeps a hand on Bellamy’s arm, an attempt at a comforting gesture as he explains to yet another couple how he works as a bartender, and no he isn’t planning on attending school. He handles it well - gracefully even - but Clarke can feel how he tenses, how each conversation is wearing him down. 

Clarke seamlessly dismisses them, pulling Bellamy away in what feels like a rescue. 

“Want to get some air?” she murmurs.

Bellamy nods, leading her towards the french doors that open to the balcony. It’s cold without a jacket, but Bellamy immediately slips off his suit jacket and places it over Clarke’s shoulders before she can say a word about it. The breeze threatens Clarke’s carefully curls waves, but she hardly cares anymore. 

“I’m sorry about all this - they’re all shallow, and horrible, and-”

“But this is your life,” he says, as if it's only a matter of fact. It sounds like a resignation of sorts.

“Are you mad?”

Bellamy shakes his head, as if snapping himself out of some deeper train of thought. 

“Of course not, Princess. It’s not my idea of _fun_ ,” he smirks. “But it’s okay - it’s for your family.”

Clarke nods. 

“Do you - is this what you want?” Bellamy asks after a beat.

“This? As in country clubs and evening gowns?”

Bellamy nods.

“No, of course not,” Clarke quickly answers. After a beat of silence, she adds, “But it is what it is.”

“It doesn’t have to be though, not forever.”

Clarke stares at the black ocean, thinking over his words. He’s right of course. When she’s 18, she’ll have the world at her feet. It’s not even like her father seems to enjoy these types of things since her mother died - before that, the two of them had been the life of the party. But now, she thinks he only comes to these events out of a sense of obligation to others in his life, or maybe, just for the sake of going through the motions. But it’s more complicated than that, because anytime she steps out of line, that she does something her family doesn’t want, or _didn’t_ want, for her, the more pain she causes them. She can’t bear to be the one causing more pain, not when she knows she’s the reason for their present suffering. 

Clarke turns to Bellamy, unsure of what she even means to say, but a familiar voice from behind her saves her from responding. 

“Clarke!” 

She spins around to find Finn Collins walking towards her, his brown hair flopping in the wind. 

“Hey, Finn,” she greets him once he catches up to them. “This is my boyfriend Bellamy,” she introduces, leaning closer to him on instinct. Bellamy shakes his hand - firmly, she notes. 

“Finn and I have known each other forever,” Clarke explains. “He’s in my class at school.”

“I can’t even count how many of these parties we’ve been to,” Finn laughs. 

Clarke laughs politely, a little weary of Finn. She _does_ consider him a friend, but she caught on to the fact that he sees her as _more_ than that, and doesn’t want to give him the impression she reciprocates his feelings.

“Are you at Arkadia University?” Finn asks, turning to Bellamy again.

Bellamy shakes his head shortly, explaining that he’s a bartender for the umpteenth time. Before Clarke can attempt to redirect the conversation, her phone interrupts the conversation. She reluctantly pulls away from the two of them when she notes that it’s Josie.

“Where are you guys?” Josie asks, before Clarke can even say hello. 

There’s loud music in the background and her cousin already seems to be slurring her words a bit. Of course, she had expertly orchestrated a story that resulted in her staying at a friends house to work on a school project. If Clarke had to guess, she promised her parents that her New Year’s Eve would consist of school work and some light snacks and soda. 

“Sorry, we’re going to try to slip out now. We’ll be there in twenty or so.”

“Hurry _up_ ,” Josie whines. 

Clarke hangs up, not bothering to say goodbye. She walks back up to the guys, not missing the strange expression on Bellamy’s face - an unreadable one.

“Hey, I think we’re going to head out, Finn,” she tells him.

“Already?”

“Yeah, I’m tired and not feeling the greatest,” she lies, already pulling Bellamy away with her. 

Finn walks back into the ballroom with them, waving goodbye before Clarke drags Bellamy into the hallway. 

“Everything alright?” Clarke asks when he says nothing on the way to the coat closet. 

“Of course,” Bellamy assures her, taking her hand. He smiles down at her, a smile that appears more genuine than she’s seen all night. Clarke exhales in relief.

“Okay, I’m just going to text my dad we’re heading out to meet a few friends,” she tells him. 

Bellamy grabs Clarke’s coat for her and helps her into it once she puts her phone away. They take an Uber to Clarke’s house and go directly to Bellamy’s car, still parked there. Clarke asked Josie to bring her a change of clothing so that they could save time. 

Bellamy places a hand on Clarke’s thigh as he drives, the heat from it seeping through the fabric of her dress. She threads her fingers through his.

“Thanks for coming tonight. I know it’s the worst, I really appreciate it.”

Bellamy furrows his brow, eyes still on the road. 

“I hope I didn’t seem irritated,” he prompts. “I really didn’t mind - I was just a little out of my element. But Clarke - anything in your life, I want that too,” he promises, squeezing her hand. 

In that moment, she feels like she can hardly contain how much she loves him - like her body can’t take it, like she needs to express it in a way that words can’t. 

“I love you,” she tells him, even though the words feel too simple and light for what she feels for this man. 

Bellamy keeps his eyes on the road, but she watches his lips break into a smile. “Love you too, Princess.”

When Bellamy and Clarke walk into the shack dressed in formal wear, they’re greeted with cheers and good-natured laughter from the crowded house.

“About time!” Josie yells from where she’s sitting on Gabriel’s lap on the couch, solo cup raised high. 

“Where’s the ball, Blake?” Miller howls from across the living room. 

Bellamy takes it in stride, bowing dramatically and drawing laughter from the party, Clarke included. Without warning, he lifts her into his arms bridal style, drawing even more laughter that fades into the background as Bellamy carries her upstairs. He kicks the door open and tosses her gently on the bed. She sits up, feeling nervous, but also more sure of her decision than she’s ever felt about anything. As Bellamy shrugs off his suit jacket, Clarke stands to take off her own coat and hangs it on his closet door. Once she does, she feels Bellamy press against her back, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind.

“You look so goddam beautiful,” he gushes, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

Clarke already feels her heart racing, already feels a desperate desire coursing through her. She wants him inside of her, she wants to be as close to him as physically possible. 

“Bell,” she starts, turning in his arms, her own now locked around his center. She noses his throat, inhaling deeply before pulling back to look up into his eyes. They’re dark, watching her with an intensity she’s never seen. “I want you...all of you.”

Bellamy raises his eyebrows at that. Whatever he expected her to say, it wasn’t that.

“Tonight?”

“Now,” she clarifies. “I don’t want to wait another minute.”

“With the party…?” he questions, although Clarke can see the amusement in his features.

“There’s a lock on your door,” Clarke murmurs.

Bellamy pulls back, putting a foot of space between them, his hands still on her waist. 

“Clarke, are you really sure? There’s no rush - we can wait as long as you need. I only want this if you do.”

Clarke’s hands move to cup his face, pulling him closer to her again. “I love you, and I want you, and I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Bellamy leans down to kiss her, his lips bruising and intense as his fingers move to tangle in her waves. 

“I love you, Clarke,” he breathes once he finally pulls away. “So much.”

Clarke knows, rationally, it isn’t normal to fall so hard for someone in such a short amount of time, but she doesn’t want to question it. She just wants to feel, she just wants to be with him. Bellamy pulls away briefly to make sure the door is locked while Clarke kicks her heels off, sighing in relief. Bellamy walks up behind her a second later, hands on her waist and breath hot against her neck. He pushes her hair to one side of her neck before pressing kisses down the opposite side and across her bare shoulder. Once his lips leave her, his fingers linger on the zipper of her dress.

“Can I?” he asks. 

Clarke nods, her heart in her throat making it hard to speak coherently. 

The feel of him slowly unzipping the dress, his fingers trailing down her bare back, sends a chill up her spine at the same time that she feels her underwear dampen. He slides the sleeves down, kissing across her shoulders again, before he lets the gown slide off her and helps her step out of it. Bellamy picks it up off the ground and moves to hang it over his closet door, seemingly more concerned about the state of the dress than she is. All she can focus on is him. 

In her strapless bra and a blush-colored lace thong, Clarke moves to sit on the edge of his bed as Bellamy kicks off his own shoes. He moves to sit on the bed beside her, running a large hand up and down her bare leg before Clarke climbs into his lap, straddling him. She leans back, held steady by his hands gripping her ass, and works on unbuttoning his white dress shirt. When she’s about halfway done, she glances up at him to find his dark eyes bearing down on her, as if in awe of her presence. As if she’s holding the entire world in the palm of her hand. One of his hands starts moving up and down her thigh as she attempts to work on the next button, driving her insane.

“Stop teasing,” she scolds.

“What am I doing?” he smirks, continuing the motion. 

Clarke grinds down on him, feeling him hard beneath her. She buries her face in the crook of his neck, repeating the motion and abandoning his half-unbuttoned shirt. Bellamy lets out a low groan, his grip on her tightening.

“Now who’s teasing?” he rasps. 

“I’m not teasing. I need it,” she whines - and it’s the truth. The way she’s desperately seeking friction has everything to do with her own selfish needs. 

“Fuck, Clarke,” he moans, flipping them so that she’s on her back, legs still locked around his waist. “You drive me insane.”

Bellamy desperately unbuttons the rest of his shirt, tearing off one of the buttons in the process. He shrugs off the shirt and undershirt, leaning down to kiss her again. Clarke lets her hands explore his bare chest as his tongue explores her mouth. When he ruts against her center, Clarke gasps into his mouth, her hands moving to work on his pants. Understanding her intention, he stands to slide off his pants and socks in what Clarke guesses is record time. While he does, she unhooks her strapless bra, sighing as she tosses it aside. 

Bellamy hovers over her again, tracing the lines left by the bra digging into her flesh. His fingers sooth over the angry marks.

“Was that hurting you, baby?” he murmurs. 

Clarke nods, feeling strangely emotional as he leans down to press kisses across her marked skin. Her breast feels heavy in his hand while he massages it, taking the other nipple in his mouth. 

“Fuck,” she whimpers at the feel of his warm tongue swiping across it. “Bell,” she whines, her fingers threading through his curls. 

Bellamy only moves on to her other breast, giving it equal amounts of attention. It isn’t enough though, not when she can feel his length between her legs, only his boxers and her underwear between them. Bellamy comes up for air, giving her another bruising kiss before leaning back to look at her. 

“Clarke-” he starts, but a loud knock on the door startles them both.

“Are you guys coming down or not?” someone Clarke doesn’t immediately recognize yells from the other side of the door. 

Bellamy hangs his head, before turning to face the door. “No! Get out of here Mbege!”

“Are you guys fucking?” he yells back, clearly wasted. 

“Fuck off!” Bellamy yells back. 

They both wait quietly for a moment before Bellamy turns to face her, offering her a sheepish smile.

“I’m sorry.”

Clarke giggles, only amused by it. She pulls Bellamy back to her, into another kiss, instead of responding. After a few seconds, he pulls up, hovering over her on his forearms. 

“Are you sure you want to do this tonight?” Bellamy asks again, threading his fingers through her waves. “With those idiots downstairs?”

Clarke laughs. “I promise you, I’m sure.”

Bellamy begins slowly kissing down her body, finally settling between her legs and dragging off her thong. His tongue swiping over her and licking into her are familiar, as is the way his two fingers work her. Except this time, instead of steadily driving her over the edge, he continuously builds her up, only to pull back before Clarke gets there. Her whole body feels desperate, shaking with the need for release.

“Please, Bell,” she begs. “I need to come.” 

When his fingers leave her, she feels like she could cry at the emptiness. Her eyes track Bellamy as he leans over her towards his nightstand, pulling a condom out of the drawer. He quickly kicks off his boxers, staring at her as he strokes himself a few times before tearing the condom wrapper open. It makes her stomach flip, her face flush with a heat she’s never felt. She barely processes it as he rolls the condom on and settles between her legs again. 

Bellamy leans down to kiss her as he rubs himself against her folds. 

“I love you,” he murmurs. 

“I love you,” she responds easily, hands trailing across his biceps. 

“Tell me if you’re uncomfortable, or need to stop,” he tells her as he positions himself at her center. 

“Okay,” Clarke agrees breathlessly. 

Bellamy guides himself into her, drawing something between a gasp and moan from her. Despite how wet she is, the pressure as he pushes into her feels overwhelming, although not exactly painful. Bellamy watches her, his brown eyes on her clouded blue ones, as if searching for any discomfort. It comes in the form of a sharp pain when he’s about halfway inside of her, causing her to tighten her grip on his arm. 

“You okay?” he checks, stopping immediately.

Clarke nods, but he can clearly see through her bravado.

“Just breathe, baby,” he coos, one hand snaking between them to rub slow circles over her clit.

The breathing and more acute pleasure from his fingers help her relax enough for the pain to somewhat subside. 

“Okay, keep going,” she breathes.

Bellamy rocks into her, slowly, until he’s finally completely buried inside her.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, feels so good,” he groans, face dropping to her shoulder before he moves to kiss her again. “You okay?”

Clarke nods, truthfully feeling better than she did just minutes ago as her body opens to accommodate him. Bellamy kisses down her neck and shoulder as he begins to move, slow and controlled at first. Once she begins to meet his thrusts, he increases his pace and the pleasure returns, her body remembering on instinct the chase with the promise of an exhilarating reward. 

“Faster, Bell,” she moans. 

Bellamy quickly complies, releasing a groan as Clarke pulls him down closer to her. She wants to feel the entirety of his body against her as he moves inside of her. Remembering that it’s _Bellamy_ finally inside of her sparks an entirely new kind of pleasure, an emotional kind that runs deeper than the simple act of sex.

“You gonna come for me, Princess?” he pants as his fingers move to her clit again. 

“Uh huh,” she whimpers, already hurdling towards release. She’s teetering on the edge, so close. 

“Doing so good, such a good girl for me,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against her ear. By now, he knows exactly what those words do to her. 

She gasps as she falls, clenching around him and immediately bringing him over the edge with her. He lets out a grunt as he thrusts deep inside her once more, his whole body tensing before he lets go. 

Clarke isn’t sure how many minutes pass without them saying a word. They only press lazy kisses to each others’ bodies, hands trailing across bare skin as Bellamy softens inside of her, their bodies covered in thin sheen of sweat. Bellamy kisses her before he pulls out - it’s sloppy and lazy and perfect. Clarke shifts onto her side when he stands, watching him as he disposes of the condom and falls back onto the bed beside her, pulling her close to him again. 

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, fingers combing through her hair.

“That was incredible,” she sighs happily.

With her face resting on his chest, she feels the rumble of his chuckle. “It was,” he agrees.

They’re silent for a few minutes, listening to the distant music on the floor below them, the party still in full swing.

“I don’t want to go down,” Clarke admits.

“Me neither,” he agrees. 

“Let’s not. What time is it anyway?”

Bellamy rolls over to reach for his phone on his nightstand. “Fifteen minutes to midnight.”

Instead of laying back down, Bellamy stands up and pulls on a pair of sweatpants.

“Where are you going?” she pouts, well aware that she sounds like a whiny child.

Bellamy only smirks at her. “Stay here,” he instructs, not giving her the opportunity to protest before he leaves the room, shutting the door behind him.

Clarke rolls off the bed, heading towards Bellamy’s closet where she knows he keeps her favorite flannel. She can hear a loud surge of cheering from downstairs as she buttons the flannel halfway, pulling an amused smile from her. Flopping back down onto the bed, she scrolls through her phone for a few minutes before Bellamy returns. She looks up to discover that he’s carrying a bottle of cheap champagne and two solo cups.

“I know it’s not what they serve at the club,” he starts, locking his door behind him again.

“It’s _perfect_ ,” Clarke insists, accepting one of the cups from him.

Bellamy opens the bottle, which results in the cork nearly breaking his window and causing them to collapse on the bed in fits of laughter. Soon enough though, Clarke is curled into his side in his bed, each of them sipping on a cup of champagne. 

“Happy New Year, baby,” Bellamy murmurs at midnight, pressing a tender kiss to her temple.

In all the years that follow, Clarke never has a better one. 

* * *

Clarke tries her best to hide her nerves as she sits at a table next to the front window at Grounders’ coffee shop. She knows that Will will pick up on her strange behavior easily enough, even though he appears to be sipping his hot chocolate without a care in the world. 

She glances at her son as she sips on her coffee, coloring and lost in his own world. 

_This will be fine_ , she reminds herself. _Everything will be fine._

The bell over the front door announces Bellamy’s presence, allowing her to briefly take him in before he spots her. The man she loved more than anyone, that she gave her entire heart to. The man with whom she let so much time and resentment fester between them, with whom she also made a perfect son with. 

_Everything will be fine_.


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for the kudos & all the kind comments! I haven't had a chance to respond but I read & appreciate every one. Hope you enjoy part 2!

Clarke’s eyes remain on Bellamy as his own scan the small coffee shop, easily landing on her a second later. He offers a half wave, although his attention immediately shifts to Will, who’s still coloring, his brow furrowed in concentration. Clarke nods at him before he turns to the barista to give her his order.

_ Black coffee _ , she thinks. 

That’s assuming she still knows anything about him, but there are no guarantees that any part of him is the same as it was. Clarke herself has changed so much since he left, she can’t possibly expect Bellamy to be the same. Certainly not after three years in the Navy, followed by three years working for Kane. Still, as she takes him in, he looks so much like his old self. At least, more so than he did when he appeared out of thin air at the charity gala. He’s wearing jeans and a navy t-shirt, a simple olive green bomber jacket over him. His curls are wild again, like she’s used to - like she likes them.

A few minutes later, Bellamy walks over to their table, to-go coffee cup in hand. For now, they’re not telling Will that Bellamy is anyone but her old friend, but her heart races anyways, a primal kind of anxiety flooding through her.

“Hi,” Clarke greets him, forcing a smile.

Bellamy offers a hesitant smile back, but doesn’t move to take a seat. He’s just as nervous, she realizes. Will, however, still has his face buried in his coloring page.

“Honey, can you take a break for a minute?” Clarke asks, ruffling her son’s thick curls. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Will looks up at Bellamy, crayon still held tightly in his hand. 

“This is my friend Bellamy,” Clarke continues, shifting her gaze from her son to him.

Bellamy’s smile shifts into something more sincere when Will looks up at him.

“Hi, Will. Your mom’s told me a lot about you.”

“Why?” Will asks, drawing chuckles from both Bellamy and Clarke. Clarke gives Bellamy a subtle nod to sit down, and he takes the chair next to Clarke, across from Will. 

“Because you’re my favorite person in the world, ya goof,” Clarke laughs, nudging her son and drawing a giggle from him. “Bellamy’s going to come to the playground with us.”

“Okay,” Will agrees, already focused on his coloring page again. She reminds herself that her son has no idea this man is supposed to be important to him. 

Clarke smiles at Bellamy, taking a sip of her coffee. “Are you getting settled okay?”

Bellamy leans back in his chair, looking a bit more relaxed than when he first walked in. He glances at Will once more before he turns back towards Clarke, as if he’s afraid he might miss something if he takes his eye off him.

“It’s good. I found a townhouse in the downtown area, near your shop actually. Movers from DC are coming next weekend.”

“Oh good - that’ll be convenient.”

Bellamy nods, taking a sip of his own coffee. “Thanks for uh - for being cool, about last night. It was nice to see everyone.”

“Well, if it wasn’t obvious, Josie hasn’t changed a bit.”

Bellamy laughs at that, running a hand through his curls. He glances at Will again. 

Clarke offers him a reassuring smile. “You don’t have to force it,” she quietly assures him. “You being here is enough for now.”

Bellamy nods again, clearing his throat. “So Gabe and Josie - they stayed together after all?”

Clarke laughs. “Not exactly, but it’s a good story if you like stories about Josie nearly giving my Aunt Simone an aneurysm.”

Clarke expects Bellamy to laugh at that - the two of them were always exasperated by her when they were together. He shifts nervously in his seat instead. Clarke swallows, continuing. 

“They broke up before Josie left for Columbia, as planned, and her parents were still unaware of his existence. She was miserable the entire year away, and the few times I ran into Gabe, I could see it was the same for him. So the following summer, they eloped. Since he finished his masters here, he decided to follow her to New York and pursue his PhD at NYU.” Clarke chuckles at the memory. “Her parents were furious, but at that point the papers were signed and well - you know Gabe. He’s hard to hate. It took a couple years, but they begrudgingly accepted it. Especially after he was tenured at Arkadia State.” 

Bellamy smiles. “Yeah, he’s a good guy.”

“Mom, can we go now?” Will asks, before Clarke can respond. Clarke looks over to Will, noting his chocolate mustache. 

“C’mere,” she laughs, grabbing a napkin. Clarke dabs at his face, sensing Bellamy’s eyes on her. 

“How come you know Uncle Gabe and Aunt Josie?” Will asks as soon as Clarke crumples the napkin up.

Clarke glances at Bellamy. An unreadable emotion flashes across his face.

“Bellamy was friends with them, when he used to live in Arkadia,” she answers for him. 

“You don’t live here?” Will asks, a new curiosity of the stranger seemingly blooming in him.

“I just moved back,” Bellamy tells him. “From a city called Washington, DC.”

“I know what that is. It’s where Spiderman went for his field trip.”

Bellamy chuckles. “You’re exactly right.”

The three of them leave Grounders after that, Bellamy and Clarke taking the rest of their coffee to go. The playground is a short ten minute walk away, the sidewalk lining a popular beach. Will skips ahead, entertaining himself by balancing on the curb on the beach side of the sidewalk.

“When he said Uncle Gabe and Aunt Josie - did that upset you?” Clarke asks hesitantly, taking a guess as to what was responsible for the strange flicker of emotion she witnessed. 

“Yes,” he admits, after a beat. “But not because I don’t want that - him to be close to them. It’s just…”

“You wish it were you?”

Bellamy nods, not offering anything more.

“Are you angry? That I didn’t try to find you?” 

She’s not asking because she has regrets, but it’s something she wants - no  _ needs _ \- to know. They can’t keep these things bottled up, if only for Will’s sake.

Bellamy is quiet for a moment, eyes tracking their son, contentedly bouncing around ten feet ahead of them.

“I wouldn’t have tried to find me either,” he settles on. “Angry? No - not at you. Angry at myself, I guess. I just wish things were different.”

Clarke nods. “Me too,” she murmurs. 

Clarke isn’t sure what it is exactly, but when they get to the playground, it’s clear that Will has taken an immediate liking to Bellamy.

“Bellme, watch,” he demands, climbing up the jungle gym.

“Bell-a-my,” Clarke corrects, glancing at Bellamy as his grin widens.

“You’re a rockstar,” Bellamy compliments him. 

After a while, Will joins in with another group of kids his age, so Clarke leads Bellamy over to a bench where they can watch him. They sip on what’s left of their coffees, Clarke’s now lukewarm.

“How is your mom? And Octavia?” Clarke asks, after a few minutes of silence - partly just to break the silence, partly because she’s genuinely curious. 

She hasn’t seen them since Bellamy left - not since she knocked on his mother’s door. Not since his mother told her that he was gone. It’s a small enough city that Clarke suspects she would have run into them over the last six years, leading her to believe they didn’t stick around.

“Octavia split soon after me - backpacking through Europe. She’s working at a hostel in Cambodia right now, and she met someone there.”

Clarke raises her brow at that, in admiration more than anything. “She’s fearless.”

Bellamy chuckles. “Yeah, too much for her own good.”

“And your mom?”

“Followed a boyfriend to Philadelphia the fall after I left. She’s in LA now though.”

“Same boyfriend?”

Bellamy chuckles again. “No.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes as they watch Will play. The sun shines brightly above them, but the cool October breeze that blows through the changing leaves acts as a reminder that winter is on its way.

“Have you told them?”

Bellamy shakes his head. “No. Not yet.”

* * *

**~ 7 YEARS AGO**

“Don’t be nervous,” Bellamy says, shooting her a teasing smile from the driver’s seat.

“I’m not nervous,” Clarke huffs, turning to look out the passenger side window. It being February, the sky is a constant gray overcast, half melted snow lining the roads. It doesn’t matter that Clarke turns away - Bellamy can see right through her, even without seeing her expression. 

With one hand on the steering wheel, his other lands on her black stocking-covered thigh. He gives her a reassuring squeeze.

“They’re chill, Princess. They’ve got nothing on Simone.”

Clarke huffs a laugh, turning back to him again. “Who does?”

Bellamy’s eyes remain on the road, but his hand drifts higher, under her black and white checkered skirt.

“Want me to help you relax?”

Clarke rolls her eyes, even though he can’t see it. “Don’t tease, we don’t have time.”

Still, she doesn’t do anything to stop his hand, knuckles grazing her center.

“We can make a pit stop.”

In a rare moment of clarity, Clarke quickly removes his hand, threading her fingers through his.

“Just drive. I don’t want to be late.”

Bellamy chuckles, humming along to the radio the last five minutes of the ride.

\--∞--

“Mom?” Bellamy calls, opening the front door. 

Clarke steps inside the small house, her black suede ankle boots’ heels clicking on the worn and scratched hardwood floor. 

The room they walk into - presumably the living room - is clean but disorganized, chaotic and colorful in a way her own house has never been. Paintings and childrens’ drawings cover the walls, books are piled on the coffee and end tables. The blue velvet couch looks like it was transported directly from the 70s and a small outdated television sits upon an antique table, but it’s hardly the centerpiece of the room. 

Instead, Clarke’s eyes are drawn to an easel in the corner, a paint splattered tarp on the ground underneath it. The painting is half-finished, and she only glimpses warm colors - burnt orange, pink, gold - before a woman’s voice calls to them from somewhere in the house. 

Bellamy takes Clarke’s hand, pulling her forward into the house. She looks around as they go, taking in the place the man she loves grew up in. They walk down a dark hallway, landing in a brightly colored kitchen. It’s small, but the large window taking up most of one wall allows an ample amount of light to shine through. The cabinets are oak, the counters a pale yellow linoleum that probably hasn’t been touched since the 70s. A colorful tile backsplash pulls it all together. 

Clarke briefly glances at Octavia, seated at table in the corner and scrolling through her phone before Bellamy’s mother turns around from the counter to greet them. His mother pulls Bellamy into a tight hug, but Octavia doesn’t acknowledge their arrival, looking as bored as ever.

“Mom, this is Clarke,” Bellamy introduces once he pulls away.

“Clarke!” Before Clarke can react, his mother pulls her into a hug, as if they’re already family too. Clarke tries not to tense in surprise. “It’s so great to finally meet you, honey.”

“Thanks for having me, Mrs. Blake,” Clarke smiles when she pulls away. 

She takes a moment to look at the woman and it’s immediately clear that Bellamy must resemble his father. His mother is the spitting image of Octavia.

“Oh, call me Aurora.”

“O?” Bellamy asks, clearly irritated by her lack of greeting.

“I already know Clarke,” Octavia responds in a bored tone, still not looking up from her phone. 

“Nice to see you,” Clarke tries, as Bellamy rolls his eyes at his sister.

“You too,” Octavia answers, the subtlest sarcasm in her tone. At least she finally looks up at her when she says it. 

Clarke has really only met Octavia in passing - at Bellamy’s house, mostly during parties - but has never spent any real time with her. Her boyfriend’s sister made it clear early on that she wasn’t a fan of her. Everything about Clarke - from her personality, her wealth, her style - seemed to rub the other Blake the wrong way. 

In a way, Clarke can hardly blame her. She’s all too aware of how standoffish she can appear to strangers - quiet and uptight. In Octavia’s eyes, that image is probably only exasperated by her attendance at Polis Academy and her beachfront house. What’s rare is that Bellamy immediately saw past that, when Octavia and countless others didn’t. At least Aurora doesn’t seem to hold the same prejudices. 

“Octavia, don’t he a brat,” Aurora tuts. “Come help with the salad.”

Octavia huffs, but finally stands.

“C’mon, I’ll give you a quick tour,” Bellamy tells her, taking her hand again. 

Their house is an old three bedroom, from the Victorian era she guesses, but in need of more than a few touch ups. Still, Clarke decides she loves it, how it holds more character and life than her own. Bellamy points out one other room downstairs, adjacent to the living room, that appears to have been an office at some point but is now filled with storage and organized clutter. He leads her upstairs next, pointing out the bathroom and his mom’s and sister’s bedrooms before bringing her into his old one.

Clarke takes in the room - it’s bigger than his room in the rental, although not by much. This room holds more clues to his life. 

“Sorry about Octavia,” he apologizes, hopping onto his twin bed, his back against the wall. 

Clarke laughs. “It’s fine - like you said, she’s got nothing on Simone.”

Bellamy chuckles in agreement, watching her as she explores the room further. She stops in front of his small desk, picking up a framed photo. It’s a photo of Bellamy, his mother, and Octavia, with a man she doesn’t recognize. Bellamy and Octavia are both so young. She smiles at the image of Bellamy as a child. 

“Your dad?” she asks, pointing at the man in the photo.

Bellamy nods. Bringing the frame with her, she joins Bellamy on the bed, arm to arm with her back against the wall. 

“You don’t talk about him much,” she prompts, looking down at the photo again. She guessed correctly - Bellamy is nearly a spitting image of his father. 

Bellamy shrugs. “I guess I learned not to. My mom hates talking about it - still can’t really deal with it. O was only 5 when he died and barely remembers him.”

Clarke hums, setting the photo on his lap and wrapping herself around his arm. “You look just like him.”

Bellamy smiles at that. “I know. I was always told I was his mini-me.” 

They’re quiet for a moment, staring at the photo. Clarke doesn’t want to push him to talk about anything he doesn’t want to. Just when she thinks he won’t say anything further, he continues.

“He was a naval officer, stationed here when he met my mom. She was -  _ is  _ \- a free spirit, an artist who had no desire to be tied down. That was the joke, because when she met my dad, that suddenly went out the window. They eloped after only six months together, and had me less than a year later.”

Clarke sighs. “Sounds romantic.”

Bellamy presses a kiss to the crown of her head. 

“It was - but he had to travel a lot for work. He was a Vice Admiral by the time he died, and traveled about three quarters of the year. He had just returned home for leave when we found out he was sick. We only had a few months with him.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, nuzzling closer to him. 

“It was a long time ago.”

“Doesn’t make it easier,” she tells him, thinking of her own mother. Of course, Bellamy has no reason to blame himself for his father. Maybe that does make it easier.

“Dinner’s ready!” Aurora calls from downstairs, before Bellamy can respond. 

Bellamy jumps off the bed, smiling as he pulls Clarke with him.

“C’mon,” he tells her.

Clarke places the frame on his desk, glancing at it once more before she follows Bellamy out of the room.

\--∞--

Clarke is too nervous to be hungry, but she makes an effort to eat the chicken casserole so she doesn’t seem rude. Bellamy was right - they’re chill. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t intimidating in a different way from her own family. She  _ wants _ Aurora to like her - at least, more than Octavia likes her.

“Is that your painting, in the front?” Clarke prompts after the conversation falls into a moment of silence.

“Oh, I’m not sure I want to claim it, but yes,” Aurora laughs. 

“It looked beautiful, from what I saw. What will it be, when it’s done?”

“It’s abstract - something I saw in a dream actually.”

Clarke smiles at that - she appreciates artists who excel in that. Her own art has always been more grounded in realism. 

“Clarke is an artist too,” Bellamy prompts. 

“A fellow artist,” Aurora hums approvingly. “That’s nice to hear - neither of my children have the patience for it.”

“More like the talent for it,” Bellamy laughs, scooping a spoonful of casserole into his mouth. 

“Is that what you’ll study at school next year?”

“Uh no,” Clarke starts. She can sense Bellamy’s disapproval before she even says it. “Something pre-med - biology, probably.”

“A jack of all trades,” Aurora says, brow raised in surprise.

“Art’s just a hobby for me,” Clarke quickly adds.

“Art is never just a hobby for an artist,” Aurora argues. “Just like writing isn’t one either,” she adds, giving her son a pointed look.

Bellamy raises his brow at that, letting out a laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean? You know I feel that way.”

“Kane called again,” Octavia tells him, speaking for the first time since they sat down. “He asked about you again - Mom is just worried you’re going to cave.”

The name isn’t familiar at all to Clarke. 

Bellamy rolls his eyes, looking back at his mother. “You know that’s not what I want, you have nothing to worry about.”

“Kane is my uncle,” Bellamy explains to Clarke, before Aurora can answer. “My dad’s younger half-brother. He’s in the Navy as well, and has been trying to get me to enlist since I turned 18.”

“It’s well-intentioned,” Aurora adds. “He wants you to follow in your father’s footsteps.”

“I don’t know why you defend him when he doesn’t even like you,” Octavia huffs. 

“I defend him, because he loves  _ you two _ .”

“Doesn’t like you?” Clarke questions. Maybe it’s rude to ask for more details, but the Blakes don’t seem to have any qualms about talking about it in front of her. 

“Octavia is being dramatic,” Bellamy explains, pointedly rolling his eyes at his sister. “He doesn't  _ dislike _ anyone, he just doesn’t approve of the...of any lifestyle without order and routine.”

“Oh.”

“Like artists and writers, waitresses and bartenders,” he adds, shooting his mother a teasing smirk. She responds by playfully rolling her eyes at her son. “He just doesn’t understand it.”

“What do you want to do after graduation?” Clarke asks Octavia, feeling determined to pull the girl into conversation. She shouldn’t care that she doesn’t like her, but she does. Clarke always cares.

“Get the hell out of this boring city,” Octavia scoffs, looking down at her plate instead of Clarke.

Clarke isn’t sure how to respond to that, but Aurora jumps in to run damage control while Bellamy glares at his sister.

“Octavia is a free spirit too - plans on traveling after school.”

“That’ll be fun,” Clarke tries. Octavia just hums in response.

“I would love to see your work, if you have any pictures,” Aurora prompts, shifting the focus away from her daughter. 

“Oh, sure,” Clarke stutters, feeling a little flustered as she reaches for her phone. 

She never shares her work with anyone but Bellamy - not even Wells. He doesn’t really  _ get _ it, has never seen the world the way that Clarke does. She opens an album of photos of her drawings and paintings and hands it over to Aurora. Aurora raises her brow as she scrolls through them.

“You’re really very talented, Clarke. I would hardly call this a hobby.”

“That’s what I keep saying,” Bellamy agrees, giving her thigh a squeeze under the table.

Clarke thanks her, cheeks turning pink.

“It’s a shame you aren’t pursuing it,” Aurora says, handing the phone back to her. “But you want to be a doctor?”

“Her family wants her to be a doctor,” Bellamy answers for her. Clarke glares at him, and to his credit, he immediately looks regretful.

“No, I do too,” she corrects him.

\--∞--

“You’re mad.”

Clarke stares out the passenger window a beat longer, the sky now black.

“You don’t listen to me,” she says, turning to him. 

“I’m sorry, babe. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Well at least you know it.”

Silence absorbs the air in the car, the radio doing nothing to dampen it.

“I just feel like you’re lying to yourself,” he adds, because apparently he can’t help himself. “I don’t want you to be unhappy.”

“You clearly don’t get it,” she snaps. “The least you can do is just let it go. I’m going to medical school, that’s it.”

“I watch you spend all the time you’re supposed to be studying biology and chemistry, drawing instead.”

Clarke glares at him, mostly because he’s right. They still spend their afternoons together in the library and Bellamy is apparently more observant than she’s given him credit for. 

“I can’t just live the starving artist life, and wait tables and bartend,” she snaps. “My family would be disappointed, and I know you don’t get that, because you were raised in a world where you can be anything, but it’s my reality. My  _ mom _ wanted me to be a doctor, it’s the least I can do.”

“You do everything to please your family, Clarke. Why do you have to base  _ your _ life on what makes  _ them _ happy? I love my father, and I know he loved me, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to join the Navy just to honor his memory. I wouldn’t if he was alive, and I won’t now.”

“It’s different,” she says again, voice raising. As if those two words will explain everything.

“Explain it to me then. Explain how it’s different.”

“Because it isn’t your fault he’s dead!” she cries, an unexpected sob catching in her throat.

Bellamy doesn’t say anything, but he immediately puts his turn signal on and pulls the car over.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he coos as soon as he puts it in park, wiping tears off her cheeks with his thumbs. She didn’t realize she started crying. “What are you talking about?” he asks, voice more gently than argumentative this time.

Clarke shakes her head, biting down on her lip to prevent more tears from escaping. It’s a useless endeavor.

“I can’t,” she bites out. She’s never told anyone, because she’s never been able to speak the words aloud.

_ I killed my mom. _

_ My mom is dead because of me. _

_ My father is unhappy because of me. _

_ It’s all because of me. _

She looks at Bellamy, the dim car light he flipped on just bright enough to make out his features. For the first time in her life, she feels strong enough to talk about. She’ll never truly understand why - this connection with Bellamy - but it changes her. Makes her braver. Somehow, he makes her both more vulnerable and impenetrable all at once.

“I…” she isn’t sure where to start. Bellamy hand moves from her damp cheek to run through her hair in a soothing manner. 

“It’s my fault my mom is dead,” she admits, voice cracking over the words. “And so it’s my fault my dad is unhappy, and it’s the absolute  _ least _ I can do for him, to make him proud. To make things easier, to honor what she wanted for me.”

“What do you mean it’s your fault, baby? I thought there was a car accident.”

“There was - and I was with her. I was screwing around in the backseat, wound up for some reason. She kept telling me to quiet down and I didn’t listen and she got distracted, the last time she turned around to tell me to quiet down…”

Clarke doesn’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t think it’s necessary. 

Bellamy looks at her for a moment, eyes searching her face, before opening his mouth to respond. She cuts him off before he gets a word out.

“Don’t try to tell me it’s not my fault, because we both know that’s a lie.”

It surprises her, when instead of answering her, he leans in to press a tender kiss to her forehead, her face still in his hands. The gesture pulls another sob from her. 

“Okay,” he says finally. “Okay, I won’t say that.” Bellamy’s face remains mere inches from hers, his eyes intense. “I’ll say you were seven - a child. I’ll ask, if you were a mother, and it was your child, would you want them carrying that guilt, that  _ weight _ , for all their life? I don’t think that’s what your mom would want, and I don’t think that’s what your dad would want if he knew what you’re feeling. I think they’d want you to be happy.”

“It’s not that easy,” she argues, finally breaking down into a full sob. 

Somewhat awkwardly, Bellamy pulls her into his arms over the center console. Clarke buries her face in his neck as she cries, fisting his shirt as he rubs her back in a soothing motion.

“I know, baby,” he whispers. “I know.”

* * *

After the playground, Bellamy and Clarke take Will to a beachfront diner for lunch. Clarke sits in the booth with Will, Bellamy sitting across from them. She isn’t sure whether it’s comforting or terrifying that somehow, this already feels normal - the three of them as one unit.

After they place their orders, Will spends the next ten minutes regaling them with stories about playing with the other kids at the playground. Bellamy’s eyes are glued on Will, but Clarke watches Bellamy instead of her son, hyperfocused on every expression that their son pulls from him. 

The waitress brings over their food then, interrupting Will’s stories. Clarke glances at Will when she notices that he’s staring down at his grilled cheese sandwich instead of digging into it like he usually does. Bellamy seems to notice as quickly as Clarke does, because he speaks before she has a chance to. 

“Something wrong with the sandwich, buddy?” Bellamy asks.

Will hesitates for a moment before looking up at Bellamy. “Are you my dad?”

Clarke nearly chokes on the sip of coffee she’s taking. Bellamy’s eyes widen, shooting her a panicked look, neither of them knowing what the right move is.

Clarke clears her throat. “Why would you ask that, honey?”

“Because Bellamy has skin like me,” he starts, pointing to his arm. His complexion is a shade lighter than Bellamy’s, but nowhere near the pale ivory of Clarke’s. “And cause he has curly hair like me. And these,” he adds, fingers touching the freckles that sprinkle his nose. “Ethan looks like his dad, and so does Liam, and I don’t have a dad, but I look like Bellamy.”

Clarke’s eyes widen, caught off guard by her son’s perceptiveness. She shouldn’t be surprised - he’s his father’s son in so many ways, and this is no different. But it’s caught her off guard anyways.

“I - um, yes,” she stutters, knowing it will do more damage to lie about it, regardless of the fact she’s ill-prepared for this conversation. Will had never even questioned her about his father yet. 

“Why didn’t you say it?” Will asks, sounding more curious than upset.

“Well, honey, we wanted you guys to have a chance to get to know each other first,” she explains. When she glances at Bellamy, Clarke finds him looking as hopeless as she feels.

Will looks over at Bellamy again, but Clarke can’t tear her gaze from her son, too afraid that she’s somehow ruined him.

“Okay,” Will shrugs, finally taking a bite out of his sandwich.

Clarke’s shoulders relax, Bellamy’s posture mirroring her own. She glances at Bellamy, finding his eyes on her already, a small smile on his face. It feels like they won some unnameable battle. 

“You don’t have to leave again?” Will asks, mouth full of his sandwich.

Bellamy’s gaze instantly snaps back to their son. 

“No - I’m not going anywhere.”

\--∞--

The month of October passes in a blur. Even if it wasn’t how they planned to tell Will about Bellamy, Clarke thinks that it all worked out for the best. Will is getting to know Bellamy as the role he is - his father. Just last weekend, after only spending three weeks together, Will started calling Bellamy  _ Dad _ . Bellamy and her were both surprised at how quickly and effortlessly that happened, but neither wanted to question it.

The night Will called him  _ Dad  _ for the first time, Clarke looked Bellamy dead in the eyes before he left the house.

“If you leave again - if you hurt him - I’ll never forgive you.”

“I’m not leaving, I promise you. I’m not leaving ever again.”

Against all logic, Clarke found that she believed him. There was something different about him, something she hadn’t yet found the words for. 

On Halloween night, they take Will trick-or-treating together, and Clarke’s heart somehow simultaneously breaks and heals, over and over again, as she watches Bellamy with their son. He’s the image of a perfect father, and yet still the personification of everything she’s lost - her greatest grief. 

Clarke even manages to convince her father to join them. Luckily, he welcomed Bellamy back easily enough. He isn’t one to hold onto grudges, so once it was apparent that Clarke was okay with his return, he didn’t exasperate the situation in any way. Simone, however, had not crossed paths with Bellamy since his return. That would surely be a different experience. 

Her father dotes on Will - he loves him, she knows. But in the same way he parented her, there will always be a lack of emotional availability, an unrecovered broken heart that affects the way he loves everyone else. When Clarke looks at Bellamy with Will - his attentiveness, his sincerity - she knows that it’ll be different with him. In spite of everything, she knows it will be better.

On Saturday, two days after Halloween, Bellamy and Clarke spend the day at the beach in front of Clarke’s house. It’s cool enough that they need sweaters and jackets, but the sun that breaks through the partly cloudy sky makes it pleasant enough. The beach is private, and aside from neighbors in the far distance, it’s just the three of them in their own little world.

Clarke watches Bellamy and Will build a sandcastle from where she’s settled on a large blanket a dozen feet away. The breeze blows her hair wildly, but she hardly notices, her focus consumed by the two of them. 

“Dad, look!” Will calls, lifting one of the buckets to reveal a slightly crooked castle. 

Clarke can’t hear Bellamy’s response, but he’s smiling when he says it, pointing out something in their expanding castle and drawing a giggle from Will.

Tears well in her eyes and she’s thankful for the sunglasses she’s hiding behind. She feels torn between gratefulness that her son has his father in his life and the ill-advised longing she admittedly still feels for her ex. But that can’t happen again, that’s not what this is. Too much has happened, and all she can hope for is a solid friendship that allows them to co-parent Will. At least, that’s what she tells herself. Her heart feels differently. 

After a few minutes, Bellamy stands, brushing off his hands on his jeans before walking back towards Clarke. He flops down next to her, laying back on his forearms, eyes tracking their son like hers do.

“He can go like this for hours, entertaining himself,” Clarke tells him. “He has a crazy imagination.”

Bellamy laughs. “Makes sense, given us.”

It’s a simple statement, a factual one, but Clarke feels heat coil in her lower abdomen at the reminder that they made him together. 

“He was the best decision I’ve ever made,” she tells him. “And it was the first one I truly made for me - for no one in the world but me.”

Bellamy is quiet, but she feels his gaze on her, having shifted from Will. She turns to face him.

“Clarke,” he starts. It takes her a moment to translate his expression - guilt, she realizes.

“Not now,” she interrupts, before he can say more.

Bellamy stares at her a beat longer before nodding, turning back towards Will. 

She isn’t ready for the conversation that she knows, eventually, they’ll have to have. It isn’t the right place anyways.

Clarke clears her throat. “Josie’s having a birthday party next weekend,” she starts.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Clarke laughs. “You know she milks any opportunity for attention so this is just one event amongst many next week.”

Bellamy chuckles.

“But, this particular party doesn’t involve our parents or country clubs,” she continues. “So it should be the most fun of all the festivities planned.” Clarke pauses for a beat, considering if it’s a good idea. She isn’t sure, but she says it anyways. “You should come.”

Bellamy turns to her again, clearly surprised by the invitation. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

Since crashing her monthly dinner weeks ago, Bellamy had truly listened to her. He respected her boundaries, and gave her the space she asked for. Aside from their time spent with Will, they hadn’t spent time together at all. But it’s selfish for her to keep him from her friends, especially since some of them were his friends too. That, and against her better judgement, she wants him there for her, plain and simple. 

“I’m sure.”

Bellamy gives her a doubtful look, dramatic enough to draw a laugh out of Clarke.

“Truly, I am. I want you there - it’ll be good for you. For everyone.”

Bellamy smiles at her. “Okay, thanks.”

Clarke might regret it, but it’s too late now. 

* * *

**~6 ½ YEARS AGO**

“Bell,” Clarke moans.

She rolls her hips at a more frantic pace, hands splayed across his bare chest for balance.

“Fuck, baby,” Bellamy groans, hands tightening on her hips, his thrusts matching her pace. “Look so good like this, so fucking hot.”

Clarke bites down on her bottom lip as she continues to ride him, chasing her release. One of his hands moves to her breast, squeezing it with the perfect amount of pressure. Sometimes she thinks Bellamy knows her body better than she does.

“That’s it,” he encourages her, his own jaw clenching from the tension of holding back. “Come for me. Good girl, that’s it.”

Clarke gasps as she orgasms, clenching around him. Sometimes, Bellamy flips them, thrusting into her until he finds his own release, but he doesn’t have the stamina today. Just seconds later, Bellamy lets out a guttural groan as he lets go.

Clarke collapses onto him, both of them covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

“Fuck,” Bellamy pants, running a hand through her tangled hair. “Fuck, that was so good.”

Clarke giggles before she climbs off him. Lying on her back as he disposes of the condom, feeling like she’s floating on a cloud. In no time, Bellamy is climbing over her, pressing lazy kisses down her neck. She hums happily, running her fingers through his curls as he sucks on the sensitive skin of her neck.

“You should start paying for all the makeup I need to cover these,” she gasps.

Bellamy chuckles, lips moving down to her collarbone just as her phone dings loudly on her nightstand next to her.

“Ignore it,” he mumbles without missing a beat.

“I can’t,” she laughs, gently pushing him off of her. “It might be from a college.”

Bellamy concedes, laying on his side, watching her as she rolls over to grab her phone. She lays on her back, Bellamy’s hand stroking the soft skin of her stomach.

Her stomach churns when she sees who the email is from. She clicks on it without a word, trying not to show her nerves, eyes quickly scanning the email. 

“It’s Yale,” she gasps, turning to him. “I got in.”

\--∞--

Clarke squeezes Bellamy’s thigh under the table, feeling guilty about dragging him to the club. It’s not that Bellamy ever complains - she thinks he does his best, even if it’s clear to her how much he hates it. It’s not like it’s what Clarke would choose for her celebratory dinner either, but Josie got into Columbia, and so Simone had summoned the whole family. When Simone summoned, you showed up.

“So what do you two plan to do, when Clarke leaves for Yale?” Simone asks, looking between the two of them. 

Josie raises her brow, taking a sip of soda that Clarke witnessed her pouring a splash of vodka into just minutes ago.

Russell works on his steak and Clarke’s father takes a sip of his wine, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“We haven’t really talked about it,” Clarke admits, aware that an answer like that will hardly suffice.

“Well it’ll be here before you know it,” Simone warns. Beside her, Bellamy says nothing. 

Before Clarke can muster some kind of response, Simone’s gaze shifts to behind Clarke, lighting up in delight.

“Finn,” Simone greets him, sounding like she’s discovered an old friend. 

Clarke feels Finn’s hand rest on her shoulder before she has a chance to turn around. She bristles at his presumptiveness. 

“I just wanted to wish you guys congratulations - I heard about Yale and Columbia.” 

Josie offers a somewhat sarcastic smile. “Thanks, Collins.” 

She’s never liked him - always believed him to be a suck up. Clarke has more patience for him, but knows it’s a fair assessment.

“Yeah, thanks,” she repeats, shooting him a smile while gently shaking his hand from her shoulder.

“Your mother tells me you’re also headed to Yale,” Simone prompts.

Clarke stiffens. That’s news to her, but then again, it’s a big school. She probably won’t run into him much. Finn seems to have other ideas.

“Yeah,” he confirms, smiling down at Clarke. “It’ll be nice to have a friendly face there.”

“Clarke and you will have to make sure to stay in touch there,” Simone suggests.

In her periphery, Clarke notes Bellamy shifting in his seat while Finn smiles down at her again. “Absolutely.”

\--∞--

“Not that I want to agree with your aunt on anything, but we should probably talk about it.”

Clarke is laying on the small wicker loveseat on her patio in front of the fire, her feet swung over Bellamy’s lap.

“About Yale? About next year?”

Bellamy nods, staring at the fire. 

“Well there’s two options I guess - long distance, or you moving to New Haven.”

Bellamy turns to Clarke, offering a wry smile. “I think your aunt has a third option in mind.”

It takes Clarke a moment to realize what he’s suggesting, if only because it had never crossed her mind. He means breaking up.

“Well I don’t care what Simone thinks.”

Bellamy lets out a humorless laugh. “You do care. That’s the problem, Clarke.”

Clarke quickly sits up, pulling her legs off of Bellamy as she furrows her brow at him. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Bellamy sighs, running a hand through his hair. 

“It means that you're planning your whole life around making your family happy, so how is our relationship any different?”

“Don’t do that,” she snaps. “Not when I explained - not when I told you.”

Bellamy’s expression softens. “The reasoning doesn’t change what you're doing.”

“And what am I doing?”

“Sacrificing your own happiness for your family’s!” Bellamy argues, voice rising as he abruptly stands. 

Clarke looks up at him, unsure of what to say.

“And I don’t know where I fit into that, Clarke.  _ Do  _ I fit into that?”

“Of course you do.”

There’s a long stretch of silence before he answers, the waves crashing onto the shore in the distance the only thing that Clarke can hear.

“Would you be happier with someone like Finn?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snaps. 

“I don’t think it’s ridiculous. I think he - well, he fits.”

“I don’t love Finn, I love you. It’s that simple.”

* * *

“This is going to be  _ so _ interesting,” Josie gushes, setting down the handle of vodka next to the rest of the alcohol on the bar cart. Clarke came early to their penthouse apartment to help them set up, but guests would be arriving any minute. 

“I hate to break it to you, but Bellamy isn’t a game,” Clarke scolds her cousin.

“I know, that’s the whole point. He’s totally still in love with you, I could read it on his face.”

“You could read that, the  _ one _ time you saw him since he came back?” Clarke questions, rolling her eyes. 

“We’re going to behave tonight, right sweetheart?” Gabe questions, appearing beside them and wrapping his arms around his wife’s waist. He shoots Clarke a knowing smirk over Josie’s shoulder.

“It’s my birthday,” she argues.

“Nope,” he tells her, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. “No excuses.”

In moments like this, Clarke is overwhelmingly grateful for Gabriel. He keeps Josie centered in a way no one else has ever managed to. It reminds her of what Bellamy and her had, once upon a time. 

\--∞--

Clarke knows it was a mistake to invite Bellamy the minute that he walks through the door. Not because she doesn’t  _ want _ him here, but because he’s wearing dark jeans and a dark blue button up with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, and she kind of wants him there more than she should. She’s supposed to remain cautious, yet against her will, her body is reacting...differently. 

Raven walks by her, pinching her side and shooting her a look when she notices her staring at Bellamy. Clarke turns around before he can catch her staring, downing her whiskey ginger and heading to the bar cart to make another drink. She didn’t really think this through, because obviously the place that Bellamy would head first would also be the bar cart. 

“Hey,” he greets her, hand grazing across her lower back and sending a shiver up her spine.

“Hi,” she chokes, glancing at him as she sets the whiskey bottle down.

“You okay?” he asks. “You’re acting strange.”

“How am I acting strange?” She’s talking too fast. “I’ve said one word to you.”

Bellamy chuckles, raising his hands in mock defense before reaching for the bottle of dark rum. It was always his drink of choice.

“Sorry,” she mutters, taking a larger gulp of her drink than necessary. She’s too damn close to him. Why does he smell so good? 

Bellamy turns to her once he finishes pouring his drink. He opens his mouth to say something, but Clarke cuts him off, saying something about needing to find Harper. She leaves him standing there before he can respond.

\--∞--

Clarke stares at the city skyline from where she’s tucked into the corner of the penthouse’s expansive balcony. It’s not an impressive skyline compared to other cities, but it’s home. There are a few other people outside, but it’s a big enough space that they’re out of earshot.

She sighs as she takes a sip of her third drink, the cold air feeling good on her flushed skin. At this point, she can at least admit to herself that she’s been actively avoiding Bellamy for most of the night. He’s definitely noticed - she knows because he started giving her space about thirty minutes ago. Suddenly, he was continuously on the opposite side of the room from her. That’s why it surprises her, makes her jump, when she hears his voice, calling her name.

She turns to find his dark silhouette walking towards her. He sits on the patio chair adjacent to hers, taking a sip of his beer before he speaks.

“You’re avoiding me.” He sounds more amused than offended.

Clarke has to laugh at her transparency. “A little.”

“Why?”

_ Because I have no idea what to do with us. _

_ Because I want you more than I should.  _

_ Because I think I might still love you. _

“I don’t know,” she lies.

They sit for a few minutes in silence before Bellamy speaks. “The party’s a hit,” he tries.

Clarke huffs a laugh. “Oh God, we’re doing small talk now.”

Bellamy chuckles and they fall back into silence for another moment. Again, it’s Bellamy who breaks it.

“I’m sorry, Clarke.”

“Bellamy-“

“No, please, let me say this. I don’t - I don’t want us to be... _ small talk _ .”

Somehow, she understands exactly what he means by that. When Clarke doesn’t respond, Bellamy takes a deep breath before continuing.

“I never should have left the way I did - I hope it’s obvious how sorry I am, but if not - I’m so sorry. It was the worst mistake I’ve ever made. One I’ve regretted nearly every day since.”

Clarke swallows thickly. She keeps her gaze trained on the skyline, not knowing what she might do if she looks at him.

“But, I’m also sorry for...I - it was unfair of me to ask of you what I did. I was young and desperate and suffocating, but still too afraid to leave on my own - to go after what I wanted on my own. It’s not an excuse, but...just the truth.”

When Clarke finally turns to him, his gaze softens.

“You made me feel like I could do anything,” he continues. “And so, I thought me and you together could make it work.” Bellamy lets out a humorless laugh. “I thought I could do anything in the world if I had you by my side - but I was only thinking of myself. Not about what  _ you _ wanted. I was so afraid to lose you, and I was immature, and selfish, and worst of all, unfair to you.”

He pauses, swallowing.

“You don’t have to say anything, but I needed you to hear it - to know that.”

Clarke takes a long sip of her drink, head beginning to spin a little more than it should be. 

“It’s not that I didn’t - I  _ wanted _ that too. You weren’t wrong, you...well, you always saw through everything. You knew me. But I was just as afraid as you, for completely different reasons. I never wanted that life, but I was still afraid to leave it. I guess I never really did, not completely anyways.”

Clarke swipes a single tear from her cheek, shaking her head at herself. “I only ever fit with you.”

Bellamy holds her gaze for a moment before quickly looking away, back towards the skyline, like he can’t bear the sight of her. 

“I never should have left,” he laments, like that isn’t obvious. Like if he voices his regret enough times, it might somehow change the past. 

In spite of everything, her heart aches for him. Maybe because she knows she isn’t blameless - she has her own regrets. They both made their choices. 

“We were just kids, Bell.”

When he looks back at her, his eyes are glistening with unshed tears. 

“I forgive you,” she says quietly. “We need to forgive each other if we want to move forward - and forgive ourselves.”

Bellamy lets out another soft, humorless laugh as he turns away again, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. 

“Forgiveness is hard for us.”

Clarke sighs. “I know.” A moment of silence passes before she speaks again. “I was so angry at you for leaving. I’m tired - I- I don’t want to feel that way anymore.”

Bellamy nods, forcing himself to look at her once more. 

“We need each other, Bellamy. What we're doing now, raising Will - it’s only going to work if we’re in this together. So I forgive you, okay?”

“Okay,” he agrees, surprising her by slipping his hand into hers.

He squeezes it once before it slides away, all too soon. 

\--∞--

Clarke is drunk. Clarke didn’t  _ mean _ to get drunk, isn’t anything close to out of control, but Clarke is most certainly drunk. She felt lighter going back into the party with Bellamy by her side. The conversation was hard, but it was necessary and she wanted to put it behind her now. She was feeling overwhelmed and forgot she was three drinks deep when Josie pulled her in for a round of shots. After the first shot, the second round sounded like a good idea. 

She doesn’t drink like this anymore - she even drove here because she only planned on having two drinks. But those plans went awry, so here she is. Now she’s going to have to leave her car here overnight, which is a little irritating. 

“Josie, I’m going to head out,” Clarke tells her cousin, trying to pull her in for a hug.

“What? No! It’s so early!” she whines, pulling away. 

It’s true that at nearly midnight, only a few people had already left the party. Clarke would be amongst the first. 

“I drank too much and have to call an Uber, and my dad’s watching Will-“

“They’re both  _ sleeping, _ ” Josie complains. “They’re  _ fine. _ ”

“I can give you a ride.” His voice comes from her.

“I was going to head out soon anyway,” Bellamy adds when Clarke turns around to face him.

Josie rolls her eyes at both of them, wearing a pout she never grew out of. “You guys are fucking boring.”

Neither has a chance to answer before her husband wraps his arms around her. “C’mon, babe. You can bully people into another round of shots.”

That distracts her enough that she nearly skips away without saying goodbye to either of them, leaving the three of them chuckling.

“Just like old times,” Gabe laughs.

Bellamy and her laugh in response, both sounding equally stitled and looking to the ground. 

Bellamy clears his throat, turning to Clarke. “Ready to go?” 

Clarke nods and they say goodbye to Gabe and a few others before grabbing their jackets. Both Raven and Murphy give Clarke an amused look when they see she’s leaving with Bellamy, but Wells seems a little more apprehensive. He was there when he left, after all. 

The hallway sounds deafeningly silent compared to the party, which is only exasperated by the fact that she’s walking alone next to Bellamy. Since their conversation, some of the tension between them had been released, replaced by something like anticipation. It’s dangerous, Clarke knows. Especially when she’s sure he isn’t feeling the same way.

“So Josie’s still Josie,” Bellamy laughs after a few minutes of silence. Clarke laughs, jabbing the elevator button before looking at Bellamy. 

“Yeah - it’s probably good they don’t want kids. I don’t think Gabe could handle Josie  _ and  _ a kid.”

Bellamy chuckles, eyes raking over Clarke in a way that makes her nervous. Or excited maybe - she isn’t sure. 

“You have drunk eyes,” he teases.

“Do not,” she argues, knowing that she definitely does. “I’m fine.”

“I know you’re fine,” he laughs. “Because phase two is loss of balance and slurring and hor-“ He cuts himself off, clearing his throat. “You’re in phase one - pink face and drunk eyes.”

Clarke chuckles, glad for the elevator doors opening at that moment.

_ Horny _ , she knows he was going to say. He used to tease her about her drunk phases all the time. It doesn’t matter he cut himself off - he was too late. The images of Bellamy fucking her hard, of her moaning his name in his ear, are already flooding through her, making her heart race.

They don’t say much as they leave the building and walk across the street to where he parked. The crisp air is quickly sobering her up by the time she climbs into the passenger seat. It’s only when Bellamy starts the car that Clarke looks around and realizes what he’s driving - a sleek, black BMW.

“Well, well, well,” Clarke laughs, running a hand along the dash and giving him a pointed look.

Bellamy smirks at her. 

“Shut it, Princess.” He stiffens at the nickname that slipped from his lips, clearly unintentionally. Clarke pushes past it. 

“Sold your soul to the devil,” she teases, leaning back in the seat.

Bellamy laughs, eyes focused on the road. “I won’t argue with that.”

Sitting shotgun in Bellamy’s car is a lot of things - strange and familiar, terrifying and exciting. Mostly, it’s nostalgic. 

Clarke swallows thickly as she glances at Bellamy, memories running through her mind on a loop as the radio hums softly. Bellamy used to always drive with his hand on her thigh - sometimes he was teasing her, but most of the time it was only a habit as easy as holding her hand. She shifts, her mouth going dry at just the thought of feeling the warmth of his hand on her bare leg. 

Clarke knows the alcohol is partly to blame, but it’s something deeper too. Maybe something more simple, in a way. She’s so tired of the hurt, the regret, the complications and resentment. She would give anything to go back, as impossible as that is. She wants to live in a fantasy, if only for tonight, where things are like they were - where her and Bellamy are still Clarke and Bellamy, not the convoluted version of themselves that they’ve become. 

“It’s weird,” he starts, driving past the gate and into her driveway. “It kind of feels like no time has passed - like I was just dropping you off yesterday.”

Clarke turns to him, wondering for the first time if maybe she isn’t the only one who wishes they could go back. Her gaze remains glued on him as he stops in front of the house and puts the car in park. He seems almost startled to find her looking at him.

“Clarke?”

“Do you miss it?”

For the briefest moment, Bellamy appears confused. But even in the dark, she can see the exact moment realization washes over him.

“Of course I do,” he tells her, voice low and gruff. “I miss everything.”

She’s not sure how her face ended up so close to his, but she finds herself leaning forward. As if gravitating towards her very presence, Bellamy does the same. They stare at each other in the dark for only a second before she abruptly presses her lips to his, taking what she wants like he always wanted her to. 

Bellamy reacts immediately, fingers moving to thread through her waves and gently pulling her even closer to him as their lips relearn each other. Clarke whimpers when he deepens the kiss, tasting him for the first time in over six years. The sound makes something in Bellamy snap. He abruptly pulls back, although he doesn’t go far.

“What are you doing?” he murmurs, as if trying to make sense of it. 

Clarke doesn’t need or want for things to make sense - not tonight. She wants Bellamy to help her float, just like he used to. 

She doesn’t answer him. Instead, she places a hand on his shoulder for balance and climbs onto his lap. It’s an awkward move, ungraceful, but she manages. She unclicks his seatbelt, leaning forward, sharing the same breath as him.

“Clarke.” Her name sounds like both a warning and a plea.

He remains still, does nothing to move her or pull her closer. His hands rest hesitantly on her hips, touch feather light as if she might burn him. She gathers her courage and kisses him again, waiting for him to push her away. He’s slow to respond, hesitant, but kisses her back all the same. After a minute, she feels his control slip as he kisses her harder, his hands running up and down her sides and back. 

“Fuck,” he gasps, voice ragged, as she grinds down. Her lips trail across his cheek, stopping at his ear. 

“I want you to touch me,” she murmurs, echoing words from long ago from a memory she never forgot.

“Clarke,” he whispers, as if he’s hiding from something or someone even though it’s only the two of them. One of his hands trails up the outside of her bare thigh until it lands on her ass, under her skirt. 

Clarke doesn’t know if her name was meant to be a question, but she nods anyways, arms looped around his neck as she buries her face in the crook of it, breathing him in. 

“Please,” she whimpers, when he still doesn’t move.

Bellamy turns to press a kiss to her temple as she clings to him. She doesn’t have to ask again before his hand moves to trail up her sensitive inner thigh. He takes his time, teasing her slit over her panties with a touch so light it makes her squirm. His other hand tightens on her hip, stilling her.

“Be good, Princess.”

She bites down on her lip so that she doesn’t gasp at his words.

Finally, he gives her the pressure she’s craving. He pushes her panties aside, thumb easily finding her clit and rubbing slow circles around it, building her up at a painstaking pace.

“You’re so wet,” he moans, thumb moving faster. His other fingers work up and down her folds, making her press her face closer to his neck, lips against his warm skin.

It’s when he gives her a finger, and then a second, that she really begins to lose it. His thumb continues, never letting up, and she can’t help but begin squirming again, rocking against him. He doesn’t stop her this time. Instead of tightening his hold on her hip, his free hand moves to her back, encouraging her movements.

“That’s it, baby. Fuck my fingers, take what you need.”

Clarke gasps, moving faster, chasing her release. “Yes, yes,” she moans into his neck.

His thumb works her faster, her hips frantically following the pace.

“You’re so close,” Bellamy groans, feeling her clench around him. “That’s it. Good girl, that’s it. Feels good, doesn’t it? You’re right there, sweetheart.”

Clarke keens, Bellamy drawing a sound from her that she hasn’t heard in years as she comes hard on his fingers. She’s panting, thighs quivering, as Bellamy soothingly rubs his hand up and down her back. His fingers move slowly, massaging her as she comes back down. When he finally pulls them from her, she can hear the sound of him sucking them, her forehead still pressed to his shoulder. 

Clarke feels too empty, desperate for him to fill her completely. She forces herself to pull back and face him, half afraid of what she’ll find. 

To her surprise, he looks up at her like he’s in awe of her very presence.

“Come inside with me,” she breathes, hating how desperate she sounds. But she isn’t ready for this to end, still clinging to the addicting feeling of what they were, fantasy or not.

His eyes search her face, lips pursed even as he draws circles over her hips. 

“Everyone’s asleep,” she adds quietly when he doesn't answer, her confidence quickly faltering.

“Clarke,” he starts. She can hear the rejection in her name.

His brow furrows as Clarke’s face flushes with embarrassment, the reality of the situation crashing down on her. He doesn’t want her, not anymore. She threw herself at him and he was kind enough to get her off. That’s all this is.

“You don’t want to,” she finishes for him. 

He clenches his jaw. “No, it’s not - just not like this.”

Clarke nods once, reaching for her purse before throwing his door open. If she wasn’t already embarrassed, her clumsiness as she climbs off of Bellamy and practically falls out of the car does it for her. 

“Clarke,” he tries, his door still open as she steadies herself, straightening her posture in an attempt to maintain some kind of dignity.

Deep down, she recognizes that Bellamy is the one making the mature choice. Still, it doesn’t dull the sharp pain of rejection coming from someone who already left her once before.

“Clarke, wait,” he tries again, when she turns to walk away.

His voice stops her in her tracks.

“Why?” she snaps, voice ice cold. “You never did.”

Bellamy looks as if she slapped him, but she walks away before he can respond. She doesn’t hear him drive away until she’s halfway to her room.

* * *

**~6 ½ YEARS AGO**

Clarke smiles brightly in her cap and gown, her arm wrapped around her cousin. 

Simone sighs. “No the lighting is terrible.” She orders the girls to shuffle ten feet clockwise. 

Josie rolls her eyes for only Clarke to see and Clarke nudges her in return. They both turn back to Simone, smiles painted on their faces again. The thing is, although she isn’t necessarily a fan of the photos op, she  _ is _ genuinely happy - and proud too. Her father and Russell are talking off to the side and Clarke’s gaze shifts to Bellamy, standing a few feet away from Simone with his arms crossed. His own bright smile mirrors hers - in spite of the tension over the last month, she knows he’s genuinely proud of her. 

Gabe, of course, is nowhere to be found. But the guys have already planned them a graduation party at the shack for when Josie and her escape from their celebratory dinner at the club. Wells is even letting them drag him along. He had met Bellamy on a handful of occasions, but never attended a party at their house. Wells didn’t even go to parties hosted by Polis kids, so it was hardly surprising.

As soon as Simone releases them, Clarke hurries back to Bellamy in something between a skip and run, flinging herself into his arms. 

“So proud of you, Princess,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight. 

In that moment, in his arms, Clarke tries to forget that they still don’t know if Bellamy will be moving to New Haven. She tries to forget that over the last few months, Bellamy’s words have sowed an ever growing doubt in her about if she’s making the right decision. She didn’t need Bellamy to tell her the choices she’s making are for her family, not her, but recently, she’s started actively dreading her departure for Yale. It doesn’t exactly feel...right. Not like it used to. Still, it doesn’t change anything. It is what it is, and tonight, she just wants to be happy. 

\--∞--

Bellamy goes to dinner with their family, which Simone is a bit disgruntled about, but she can’t rightfully say much about it. It makes it easier for the three of them to leave after dinner, vaguely explaining they have plans with friends. 

“About fucking time,” Josie groans as she climbs into the back of Bellamy’s car. 

Clarke only giggles from the passenger seat. Bellamy smiles, but his own laugh sounds stilted. He had seemed a little strange today - nervous, almost. Which is a rare for him. 

When they reach the shack, Josie bolts from the car before Bellamy even puts it in park. Clarke smiles as she watches her cousin running towards Gabriel, who’s waiting outside for them. She leaps into his arms, kissing him everywhere. Not for the first time, Clarke wonders how they can possibly say goodbye at the end of the summer. The thought fills her with dread when she remembers it’s a very real possibility for Bellamy and her too, even if the goodbye is only temporary.

Clarke moves to open the door, but Bellamy stops her with a hand on her arm. 

“We’re going to make a quick detour,” he explains. 

Clarke eyes him suspiciously, settling back into her seat as he pulls out of the driveway again. Bellamy only smiles, eyes on the road.

“Everyone’s going to wonder where we went,” Clarke prompts.

Bellamy smiles wider. “I already told Gabe we’d be late.”

“And are you going to share  _ why _ we're going to be late?”

“Nope,” he quips. 

Clarke just shakes her head, turning the volume of the radio up. She gazes out the open window, breathing in the smell of sea salt as they drive in the direction of the beach. Bellamy’s hand moves to her leg like it always does, the warmth soothing her nerves about everything ahead of them. In that moment, she realizes that she doesn’t even care to ask where they’re going, because she trusts him so completely that it doesn’t matter. As long as he’s by her side, everything will always be okay. 

Eventually, Bellamy pulls into the beach parking lot, not far from the spot they were at the first time they came here together, so many months ago. The sun is dropping lower in the sky, and Clarke realizes his intention. 

“Watching the sunset? You’re such a sap,” she teases.

Bellamy laughs, giving her leg a squeeze before he lets go, turning off the car. “I just wanted a little time alone before the party.”

When they get out of the car, Bellamy walks to the trunk and pulls out a blanket, and to her surprise, a small cooler. 

“A picnic?” she questions, surprised. “ _ Sap _ ,” she emphasizes again. 

Bellamy pulls her close with his free arm, tickling her side. “Be nice.”

“I’m always nice,” Clarke argues, snuggling closer into his side as they walk across the sand. 

Bellamy lays out the blanket, and for a while, they simply lay together in silence, Clarke curled into his side as the blue sky fades to soft orange and the sun sinks even lower on the horizon. They press lazy kisses to each other, hands wandering aimlessly across each others’ bodies as if the very existence of the other thrills them. 

“I want to live in this moment forever,” Clarke murmurs. Bellamy turns to her, eyes searching her face for a few seconds. 

“Then let’s.” 

Clarke furrows her brow. “What do you mean?”

Bellamy abruptly sits up, his body a bundle of energy. Clarke sits up with him.

“Marry me.”

Clarke’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t have the chance to respond before he’s barreling ahead. 

“I know I don’t have the ring you deserve yet, but I will. I promise, I will.”

“Bellamy, I-”

“Just you and me, Princess - screw Yale and all the rest of it. Let’s just...go. New York, LA, wherever you want. I can write and you can make art and I know it’ll be hard, but I know we can do it. I’m sure of it, I’m sure I can make you happy.”

It sounds absolutely insane, she knows. But why does her heart ache for it as soon as the image enters her mind. Bellamy and her in a small apartment, creating together, working whatever jobs they find. He’s right - it’ll be harder than the life she has now, but somehow it seems so much better than stuffy Yale classrooms full of Polis look alikes, only to spend ten more years working to be a doctor. Her heart isn’t in it, no matter how much she wishes it were. All she wants is the man in front of her. Why is it so wrong to follow her true passion with the man she loves by her side? He’s right. They can do this - they can do it together. 

“Okay,” Clarke smiles. “Okay, let’s do it.”

Bellamy looks as surprised as Clarke feels when he hears that. He pulls her in for a bruising kiss, nearly knocking her backward, her face cradled in his large hands. 

“You mean it, Princess?” he asks breathlessly when he finally pulls away. “All of it - you’ll marry me?”

“Yes,  _ especially _ that part,” Clarke smirks. 

Bellamy’s responding smile is brighter than she’s ever seen it. It’s the only view she wants for the rest of her life. 

\--∞--

It’s dark when they finally pull back into the shack’s driveway. They stayed on the beach to watch the sunset, alternating between making out and sipping on the champagne that Bellamy packed. Even in the dark, Clarke can see the smile that hasn’t faded from Bellamy’s face. 

When they enter the house, Clarke beelines for Josie, who’s sipping on a drink in the kitchen next to Wells. For being Wells, he doesn’t look all that uncomfortable, which is a good sign. Still, he doesn’t hide his relief when he sees her coming.

“Clarke!”

Josie looks over to her. “About time you guys show up!”

Clarke doesn’t address their greetings. “We’re getting married,” she tells them excitedly. “And I’m not going to Yale. We’re-”

“Woah, slow down,” Wells cuts her off, but Josie is already talking over him. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” she asks, eyes wide.

Clarke takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to be a doctor.”

“Well, no shit,” Josie replies. Wells elbows her.

“All I want - I want to be with him, and I want to make art. I know what you’re going to say, and I know it won’t be as easy, but I’ll be pursuing what I love with the person I love. I know we can do it.”

Wells looks too stunned to speak. 

Josie raises her eyebrows. She looks more impressed than surprised. “This is probably the most interesting thing you’ve ever done.”

Clarke gives her a pointed look, which Josie smiles at. 

“I’m kidding,” she laughs. “I’m happy for you,” she adds, pulling Clarke in for a hug. 

“Are you sure about this?” Wells asks, clearly more apprehensive about it.

“I know it sounds insane,” she admits.

“You know my parents and your dad are going to lose their shit, right?” Josie adds. “Don’t get me wrong,” she shrugs. “It’ll be a little entertaining for me, but just something to consider.”

Clarke’s stomach drops dramatically at the thought of having that conversation. “I think - I think my dad will eventually come around to the idea.”

“No,” Josie argues. “Your dad would maybe come around to the idea of you switching your major at Yale, not bailing on college and getting married at 18.” 

She doesn’t say it judgmentally, just as a fact. Clarke knows she’s right, but she doesn’t want to go through four years of school, not when she knows she can create art and learn more from other experiences. It feels like a waste, not to mention she knows she won’t fit in there. Just like she never fit at Polis.

“It’ll be okay,” Clarke says, knowing she’s reassuring herself of that more than she is Josephine.

\--∞--

Clarke is relieved when the party finally ends. She collapses onto Bellamy’s bed, feeling utterly exhausted. But then she looks at him, unbuttoning his shirt that he never changed out of after dinner at the club, and she feels much more awake. Heat spreads from within her and her worries about her family from hours ago fade into the background. Because it’s him - he’s all she wants and needs. 

It’s different that night, from the way they take each others’ clothes off to the way that his lips linger longer when they press against her body. Clarke feels like she needs to commit the moment to memory, both in her mind and body, because she never wants to forget how full she feels. How happy she feels, how relieved she is. 

When Bellamy finally pushes into her, he interlaces his fingers with hers, kissing her the entire time. Clarke can’t get enough of the taste of him, his touch, the feel of him filling her so completely. His thrusts are slow and deep. Tonight, it’s not about chasing an orgasm, it’s about being as close as they possibly can to each other, for as long as they can. When he isn’t kissing her, he’s murmuring how much he loves her, wants her, how perfect she is. She doesn’t last as long as she wants, not when it feels so good, not when her heart feels like it’s going to burst. He groans, falling apart just moments after her. 

When Clarke falls asleep in Bellamy’s arms that night, she knows everything will work out. Everything will work out as long as they have each other.

\--∞--

“Are you out of your goddam mind, Clarke?”

Clarke glances at Josie, who somehow looks like she both feels bad for Clarke but is also holding in laughter. Russell shifts uncomfortably, clearly not wanting to be here. Clarke can only be glad she told Bellamy that she would tell her family alone - whatever Simone has to say isn’t going to be kind. 

“Let’s just, sit down and talk about-” her dad tries. 

“Your daughter is throwing her life away,” Simone cuts him off. “That’s what you want to talk about?”

“Simone,” Russell tries, but the look she throws him stops him in his tracks. Clarke guesses he won’t have anything else to say for the rest of the evening. 

Clarke, standing in front of all of them in their sitting room, begins pacing. 

“Clarke,” her dad tries. She comes to a halting stop, fresh guilt blooming under her skin when she makes eye contact with him. “I don’t think you’re thinking this through,” he tries.

“I kept my mouth shut, when I thought this was a high school fling,” Simone plows ahead. Clarke catches Josie discretely rolling her eyes. “This is officially out of control. This boy - he is beneath you. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth. You are wasting the privilege you were gifted with, ruining your life, and your family’s.”

Her father shakes his head. “Simone,” he warns.

Clarke bites her lip, noting that her father doesn’t argue with the sentiment. 

“ _ Yale _ , Clarke,” Simone tries, like that single word will change her mind.

“I don’t want to go anyway!” Clarke cries, growing exasperated.

“Now, Clarke,” her father tries, sounding twice as concerned as before. 

“Maybe,” Josie yells, standing up. “Everyone should  _ process _ this, take a beat, and talk about this later.”

Clarke throws her cousin a grateful glance. 

“Sit down,” Simone scolds her daughter.

Josie lets out a dramatic sigh, falling back down onto the couch. Still, Simone purses her lips, considering Josie’s suggestion. The moment of silence allows her father to chime in again.

“I think Josie is right, let’s take a breather.”

Clarke looks to him, finding that he looks like he’s aged years from this single conversation. She wants this, she does...but there’s another voice, battling for dominance now.

_ After everything he’s done for you, and you can’t just follow the path he wants? _

_ This easy path towards a good life? _

A few minutes later, Clarke stands against the wall in the foyer as the Lightbournes leave. Simone hangs back for a minute, standing in front of Clarke.

“Unless you’re willing to cut your family out of your life, this life will always be who you are,” she says quietly, her voice steady. “Do you really think that Bellamy could be happy in this life?”

Clarke swallows thickly, but Simone walks away before she can answer her.

\--∞--

Two weeks after he proposed and one week after her conversation with her family, Clarke sits on Bellamy’s couch watching television. She doesn’t have her feet on his lap like usual. Instead, Bellamy has his laptop in his lap, glasses on and searching for apartments in New York.

“You okay?” he asks, placing a hand on her leg while still looking at the screen. “You’re quiet.”

The anxiety and guilt that have been jointly brewing in her chest over the last week are constant. When she doesn’t answer, Bellamy looks up from his computer, concern etched into his features.

“No,” Clarke admits. 

Bellamy closes the laptop, setting it aside. “What’s wrong?”

“I think I changed my mind. I think we should hold off on marrying, and I think I have to reconsider Yale.”

Bellamy furrows his brow at that, like he can’t understand her words. “You don’t want to get married?”

“I don’t know.” She does know that she wants to spend forever with him - that’s what a marriage commitment is, right? But new doubts poison her intentions. “My family is really upset and it’s not like I can just  _ abandon _ them.”

Bellamy’s expression softens. “I don’t want either of us to abandon our families,” he assures her, sounding confused at the implication. 

_ Do you really think Bellamy could be happy in this life? _

“Still,” Clarke argues, her voice not nearly as steady as she intends it to be. “I think I need to go to Yale, I - I changed my mind. I want to study Biology, I want to -”

“Clarke,” Bellamy cuts her off, upset and exasperated. “If I thought for one second you  _ wanted _ this life, that it would make you  _ happy _ , I’d be encouraging you to go. But I know you - I  _ see _ you. I know this isn’t for you. I know this isn’t what you want.”

Tears well in Clarke’s eyes. “It is, I- it’s what I have to do. I love you, I do, but…” she trails off, uncertain of where that thought was even supposed to go.

“Do you?”

“Of course I do.”

“You’re going to live your life pleasing others, and it’s going to make you miserable,” he bites, tone sharper than a moment ago. It sparks anger in her, anger she’s spent a long time burying. Anger she didn’t realize she had.

“Well, how is that any different than what  _ you’re _ asking? I’m either following what my  _ family _ wants or I’m following what  _ you _ want. What’s the difference?”

“If it’s not what you want, then why did you agree?”

There’s an uncomfortably long stretch of silence before Clarke answers. 

“I don’t know,” she admits.

Bellamy stands, clearly upset. 

“I need to go for a walk.”

“Bellamy, I  _ love _ you,” she tries, because she’s certain of that, at the very least. She doesn’t know what she wants her life to look like, but she knows she wants him.

Bellamy lets out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, only if I fit into the  _ plan _ . Right, Princess?”

Clarke is left speechless, saying nothing more before Bellamy storms out of the house. 

\--∞--

Laying on her bed, Clarke checks her phone for what feels like the twentieth time in just the last hour. It’s officially been a week since her and Bellamy’s fight. There’s been an ever-present ache in her chest the entire time, but she’s no closer to figuring out what she’s going to do in a month.

Clarke left his house before he returned from his walk, knowing that she had nothing to offer him - nothing to say that might fix this or give them any resolution. She was torn, plain and simple. Stubborn as she was, Clarke had only sent one text over the entire week, asking if he was okay. He never answered, which only pissed her off more. She’s been trying to give him space, but how much space is enough?

_ Fuck this _ , she thinks, rolling off her bed.  _ We need to have a conversation. _

Clarke drives over to the shack, immediately noting that his car is missing from the driveway. He shouldn’t be working right now, but he could be anywhere else. Still, she drove all the way here. Maybe Gabe is home and knows where he is. Maybe she can wait for him inside.

Gabe opens the door, appearing utterly confused.

“Clarke?”

Clarke furrows her brow at his confusion. “I’m just - is Bellamy home? I can’t reach him.”

“Bellamy moved out four days ago,” Gabe explains. “He didn’t tell you?”

Clarke feels like someone dropped a heavy stone into her stomach. 

“No, I…” She shakes her head. “I guess I’ll check his Mom’s.”

Gabe nods but Clarke stops him before he can shut the door. “Why did he move out?”

Gabe shrugs. “He didn’t say, specifically. He was in a mood for days, and just said he needed a change and that he would keep paying rent until our lease is up next month.”

Clarke nods. Once she climbs into her car, a numbness washes over her. Her body knows something bad has happened, or is happening, before her mind can discern what. He doesn’t pick up the phone when she calls - not the first time, or the second or third. On autopilot, she drives to his mother’s house. She’s only been there a handful of times, but she isn’t sure what else to do. 

Aurora seems as confused as Gabe did that Clarke doesn’t know about his whereabouts, except unlike Gabe, his mother knows exactly where he is. 

“He went to DC to visit his uncle, hon,” she tells him, looking as upset about it as Clarke feels. She doesn’t understand why until she adds, “he decided to enlist.”

* * *

Before Clarke even opens her eyes, she can feel the dull headache forming behind them. She groans, rolling over and greedily chugging the glass of water next to her bed. It’s only then that the embarrassment seeps into her. She rolls over again, face muffled in her pillow. 

“Oh my God,” she groans, her self-loathing reaching new heights. 

Clarke knows she owes Bellamy an apology for acting like a child - she just isn’t sure how she can possibly face him. She checks her phone, finding that it’s nearly 9AM and wondering why Will hasn’t come bursting through her door in the last hour. He usually wakes her up by now if she’s still sleeping. With a huff, she throws off her blankets and pulls an oversized cardigan over her leggings and tank top, her hair thrown into a haphazard bun on top of her head. All she can think about is more water - and coffee too. Yeah, definitely some coffee.

When Clarke walks into their dining room on the way to the kitchen, she stops dead in her tracks, nearly tripping over herself. Bellamy, of all people, is sitting at the table with their son and her father. Bellamy is too focused on spreading cream cheese over Will’s bagel to notice Clarke - he only looks up at her when Will pipes in with, “Morning, Mom!”

Bellamy looks up at her, offering a hesitant smile. 

“I brought breakfast,” he tells her, nodding at the bag of bagels on the table. She recognizes the logo on the bag as the place they used to go to for hangover food the morning after a party at the shack. “Thought you might want them,” he adds, his tone so subtly teasing that she thinks only she notices. 

Clarke hums in response, standing awkwardly with her hands crossed over her body. 

“Morning, honey,” her father greets her, as if just noticing her presence, briefly pulling the newspaper back from his face to look at her. 

“Morning, Dad,” she answers, voice horse. “I’m going to grab some coffee,” she adds, walking past them into the kitchen.

Clarke glances back at the dining room through the doorway once she pours her coffee. Will’s mouth is full of bagel, but what surprises her is how Bellamy is chatting easily with her father - her father who usually takes his coffee and paper into his office. 

Resigned to her fate, Clarke walks back into the dining room, taking a seat next to her father and across from Will and Bellamy. 

“These are really great,” her father tells her when she sits down, holding up the bagel before taking another bite.

Clarke huffs a surprised laugh before turning to Bellamy. “Hand me one?”

Bellamy offers another smile as he reaches for the bag, a little hesitant, as if he’s trying to read her. Instead of passing her the bag, he takes out an onion and chive bagel and starts spreading an absurd amount of cream cheese on it. He remembers exactly what she likes. She offers a quiet thanks when he passes it to her on one of the plates he brought from the kitchen.

Over the next hour, they eat and sip on their coffees, chatting easily. Clarke can’t remember the last time she sat down to breakfast with her father and Will, and even with the headache and her nerves about what happened with Bellamy, she can’t deny the warmth that spreads through her from the simple moment. 

_ I could get used to this _ , is the thought that crosses her mind without permission. It’s a dangerous thought, one she shouldn’t entertain. Especially not after how last night went. 

Eventually, her father dismisses himself and Will wanders off to play, bored by their conversation. Clarke nervously drums her fingers on the table before looking up at Bellamy, finding his eyes already on her.

“We should talk,” she prompts, even though it’s the last thing she wants to do.

Bellamy nods, and so Clarke stands, walking out onto the back patio with her coffee, Bellamy behind her. They sit in the same chairs they did the first night he came over. It’s been less than two months, but it feels like a lifetime ago. He so quickly and seamlessly integrated himself back into her life, that she’s hardly had a chance to consider if it’s a good thing. But then she looks at him, and in spite of everything, all she sees is good. 

He’s different, she thinks. She loved him as a boy, but the man next to her is more mature. More level-headed, less self-centered. Clarke wants to know him all over again, but she has no idea what  _ he _ wants. That’s the problem. 

The air is chilly, but by some miracle, the sun is shining brightly. Now that her headache has faded, Clarke is glad for the warmth it envelopes her in. 

“You got my dad to eat breakfast,” Clarke prompts, letting out a soft laugh. 

“Well, it wasn’t too hard. Those bagels are too damn good,” he quips.

Clarke laughs harder until they settle into silence again.

“You know, he really does love you,” Bellamy tells her quietly.

She offers him a wry smile. “I know he does - in his own way. My mom - it broke something in him. This is the only kind of love he knows, and I’ve come to terms with that a long time ago. I know he cares.” She pauses before continuing. “You know, when I found out I was pregnant, it was the first time I’ve seen him really stand up to my aunt?”

“Yeah?” Bellamy smiles. 

Clarke nods. “Unsurprisingly, she didn’t want me to have Will. My dad yelled at her - truly  _ yelled _ at her, and told her that it was my choice and that he would support me no matter what.”

“Would have loved to see that,” Bellamy laughs.

“It was quite a sight,” Clarke agrees. 

Once their laughter fades, Bellamy turns to look at the ocean for a moment, as if too nervous to face her. It should be the other way around.

“I’m sorry, about last night,” she prompts, her cheeks burning at just the mention of it. “I shouldn’t - I was acting like a child. You were right to...to shut it down.”

He turns to face her again, offering a teasing smile. “It’s not like it was a chore, Clarke.”

Clarke laughs, ducking her head, cheeks burning even hotter.

“Clarke, I-”

“Why’d you come back?” she asks, cutting him off. It’s the question that she buried, but continues to dig its way to the forefront of her heart and mind. “I know why you’re staying, but I don’t know why you came back in the first place.”

“I-”

“And I know, it was for work, technically,” she continues, talking faster because of her nerves. “But I figure, Kane could have sent anyone to Arkadia. I figured you’d never want to come back, but you did, for something. I just want to know why.”

Bellamy’s eyes sweep over her face, as if checking to see if she’s done speaking this time. He swallows thickly. 

“I always wanted to come back, I guess I just - right or wrong, I felt like I couldn’t come home until I had something to show for myself. Not after the way I left.” He laughs darkly. “A foolish kind of pride.”

“You’ve been working for Kane for nearly three years - that wasn’t enough? Why didn’t you come home earlier?”

Bellamy hesitates, biting his bottom lip. 

“I wrote a book,” he admits, after a beat. “It’s being published.”

Clarke’s eyes widen. “That’s incredible.”

“It doesn’t really mean anything yet, it might not sell at all, but...I don’t know. Still felt like a milestone.”

“It  _ should _ feel like a milestone, because it is. You should be so proud.”

“Five and half years after I left, I get a call that my book is being published, and my very first thought is  _ I want Clarke to know _ . That’s when I knew I wasn’t anywhere close to - that’s when I knew I had to come back. I didn’t know if you would still be here, but I figured it was a good place to start.”

Clarke smiles. “And then you got more than you bargained for,” she teases.

“No, I got more than I ever deserved,” he corrects, tone void of any humor.

Clarke swallows, looking away briefly.

“What’s the book about?”

“A relationship. Living your truth. A guy who stays when things get tough.”

Clarke looks back to him, gaze softening. 

“I figured we deserved a happy ending, in some form, in some world.”

“Maybe this was all for the best,” Clarke ponders. “Maybe we would have resented each other for the last five years, or destroyed what we had even worse than we did.”

“Maybe,” he agrees.

“I don’t want to waste time on what-if’s anyway.”

“Clarke - last night. I just - I just didn’t want to risk screwing things up. Not after l screwed up in such a colossal way last time.”

Clarke nods. “I get it - truly, you don’t owe me any explanation. Will comes first, and we can’t risk-”

“No,” he cuts her off. “Not - I meant I didn’t want to screw things up with  _ you _ . Not for Will, for...for us.”

Clarke can only stare at him like a deer in headlights, unsure of what he could possibly mean.

Bellamy shifts nervously, running his hand through his hair and looking away before he looks at her again, as if gathering courage.

“I never stopped loving you, Clarke. God knows I don’t deserve you, but if there’s even the smallest chance that we get a second chance, then I want it. I don’t want to be a drunken one night stand that you regret in the morning, I just - I just want you. All of it. And maybe Simone was right, maybe I would have ruined your life, and-”

“What do you mean Simone was right? She said something to you?”

Bellamy blinks at her, as if just realizing what he revealed.

“I - it doesn’t matter. My choices were mine, and I won’t place the blame on anyone else.”

“It matters to me.”

Bellamy sighs, leaning back in his chair. “She showed up at the bar one night, after we got engaged. She told me I was going to ruin your life, that I’d take you down with me because I knew what you couldn’t accept - that you didn’t belong with me.”

Clarke clenches her jaw, fresh anger rolling over her in waves. 

“I mean, she was right, in a way. I don’t think I realized it until much later, but I think the reason I was rushing things is because I was so afraid you’d wake up one day and come to your senses about me.”

“I can’t believe she would do that,” Clarke seethes. Bellamy places a hand over her leg. 

“It was still my choice,” he murmurs. “I want to take accountability for the decisions I’ve made. But I’m hoping, if you let me, I can spend the rest of my life making it up to you and proving her wrong.”

Clarke’s eyes search his face. She knows they have a lot to work on, a lot to catch up on. She knows they have to learn each other all over again. But she would rather have something imperfect with him than something perfect with anyone else.

“Okay,” she agrees.

Bellamy smiles, and Clarke can’t help but mirror him. 

“Go on a date with me,” he says, echoing his words from years ago.

Clarke laughs. “Okay.”

Bellamy’s grin widens. “Okay.”

\--∞--

Clarke is wrapped in his arms, laying on the couch and mindlessly watching  _ A Christmas Story.  _ Her dad and Will went to sleep hours ago, and it’s just the two of them. She loves this movie, but she’s hardly paying attention. She never could pay attention to the television when Bellamy was anywhere in the vicinity. 

It’s their first Christmas together since he left and it’s hard to put into words just how content she feels right now. Simone and Russell, and Josie and Gabriel, came to their house for Christmas dinner, along with Bellamy of course. She never confronted Simone about what she said to Bellamy. That was Bellamy’s choice - he said that he just wanted to move forward, and that he was content with knowing that they both know how wrong she was. Simone, for her part, is friendlier to Bellamy than she ever was when they first dated. Clarke knows that Simone will probably never fully approve of the relationship, nor will she apologize for how she acted in the past, but she seems to at least recognize that it’s no longer any of her business. That’s good enough for Clarke.

Bellamy came over in the morning, before the rest of their family arrived, so he could be there while Will opened presents. He spent the day putting together Will’s toys and playing with him, while Clarke watched them, sipping her coffee and falling harder for him with every passing minute. Over the last two months, the two of them existed in two separate spaces. In the first, they were friends and co-parents to Will. In the second, they were dating, getting to know each other again. Admittedly, it’s getting harder and harder to keep those spaces separate, but she isn’t sure she wants to anymore anyway. 

“You falling asleep on me?” he asks, stroking her side. 

She isn’t - Clarke feels wide awake from his touch alone. But he’s probably interpreting her quietness for tiredness, given that she’s usually more chatty during movies. 

“No,” she tells him, abruptly sitting up. Running a hand through his curls, she leans into kiss him, slow and deep.

“I want you to stay the night,” she says when she pulls away, running a hand up and down his chest, over his shoulder. 

Having agreed to take things slowly, they hadn’t slept together yet, but Clarke can’t wait any longer. She wants him with every atom in her body. She trusts him, knows they’re ready for this. 

“Are you sure?”

Clarke nods. 

“To just, stay over, or-”

“ _ Stay _ the night,” Clarke emphasizes, letting him know with her eyes exactly what she wants. 

Bellamy smiles brightly, scooping her up into his arms. She muffles her yelp by burying her face in his shoulder, clinging to him as he easily carries her up the stairs. He gives her a teasingly pointed look and shushes her when a giggle escapes. It makes her feel like she’s in high school again, sneaking around, taking any risk just to be with him.

He tosses her on the bed so he can shut and lock the door behind them, but he’s climbing over her in an instant, pressing kisses to every inch of her exposed skin, hands holding her bare waist under her sweater. Nosing her jaw, he presses kisses up her neck until he reaches her ear.

“You’re sure about this, Princess?”

Clarke huffs a laugh at the nickname, tugging on the bottom of his sweater.

“I’m sure.”

Bellamy leans back on his knees, pulling his sweater and undershirt off as Clarke does the same. 

“Do you have a condom?”

“I’m on the pill.”

Bellamy’s only response is to bury his face in her chest, pressing bruising kissing to the tops of her breasts. 

“Need this off,” he mumbles, reaching behind her to find the clasp of her bra. She helps him and he pulls it off, tossing it on the floor.

He lets out a sigh that sounds something like relief as he begins playing with her breasts, nipping at the soft skin, sucking on a nipple. 

“Fuck,” she moans, arching her back to bring him closer.

“You’ve got to be quiet,” he whispers, the gentle authority in his voice making her squirm. She nods frantically and Bellamy smirks at the confirmation that she’s still turned on by the same subtle ways he used to drive her crazy all those years ago.

Their pants and underwear are shed next, leaving them naked as Bellamy starts kissing up her inner thighs. She tugs on his hair to get his attention. He looks like he’s about to scold her to behave. 

“Not tonight,” she pants. “Just need you inside of me.”

His gaze softens, eyes full of adoration as he nods, climbing up her body. She feels him hard against her, drawing a moan from her.

“Please,” she whimpers.

“I’ve got you, Princess,” he murmurs, kissing her as he guides himself into her. 

She whimpers again, not used to his size. It’s been a while since she’s been with a man.

Bellamy is patient, worshipping every part of her he can reach with his lips as he slowly pushes into her. Finally, he’s completely sheathed in her.

“Fuck,” he groans, rocking his hips slowly. “Fuck, you feel amazing.”

“Bellamy,” she gasps. Bellamy reaches up to intertwine their fingers, settling into a somewhat languid pace. 

“Feel so tight, so perfect, baby,” he quietly moans. 

“Feels so good,” she pants. “Yes, yes-”

Just when Clarke finds herself climbing incredibly close to release, he abruptly pulls out of her. She nearly whines until he gently rolls her over. 

“On your knees, baby,” he commands. 

As soon as Clarke is on her hands and knees, she feels Bellamy’s hand move up her spine, steadying her as he pushes into her from behind.

“Fuck,” Clarke groans, collapsing onto her forearms and pressing her face into the blankets.

“Just like that, look so fucking hot,” Bellamy grunts, fucking into her at a faster pace. 

The position is overwhelming in the best ways, from how he fills her so completely to the way he holds all the control. It isn’t long before Clarke begins whining, unable to utter any kind of fully-form words. Bellamy leans forward, pressing her further into the bed and again intertwining their fingers next to her head. His other hand stays on her hip, holding her steady as he slams into her harder. 

“So good,” she gasps, babbling. “So good, so good, so-”

“Good girl. Come for me, baby. That’s it.”

She buries her face into the bed as she orgasms, clenching around him so tightly it draws a groan from him. He keeps fucking her through her orgasm, panting and grunting, the sounds nearly animalistic. With one last thrust, he buries himself deep inside her before he lets go. Clarke hums happily at the feel of him filling her, not minding at all the way he half collapses on top of her. 

She whines when he pulls out of her, both of them rolling onto their backs, hearts still racing. 

“I love you,” he tells her, pulling her closer. 

When Clarke falls asleep, she dreams of old loves and new beginnings, and everything that comes in between. 

\--∞--

When the bell above  _ Abigail’s  _ front door opens, Clarke looks up from where she’s standing behind the front desk, the box sitting on top of it. Bellamy and Will walk in, momentarily letting the AC escape into the warm summer day. Clarke places a hand on the box, barely able to contain her excitement. Will comes over and gives her a hug before she ruffles his curls and tells him to go start his homework. 

“Hi, baby,” Bellamy greets her, leaning over the desk to give her a quick kiss. 

Like always, her eyes are drawn to the ring she put on his finger. Maybe she’ll grow used to it eventually, given that it’s only been a month, but somehow she doubts that being married to Bellamy will ever lose its thrill.

Clarke had been the one to propose this time around, although proposal might be a strong word. They were watching television in January and she realized in the most ordinary moment that she wanted to spend her life with him. She also knew that he would never rush things, not after what had happened all those years ago. 

“I want to get married,” she had told him, her tone casual, as if she asked what he wanted for dinner. 

He asked her if she was sure, although he could barely mask his smile. When she said yes, he kissed her like she was the source of all oxygen on Earth. They waited until the end of June to marry. It was a small ceremony on the beach in front of her father’s house with only their friends and family, and it was perfect.

Since their engagement, Bellamy quit his job with Kane and started working with Clarke at the shop, continuing to write in his free time. She loved having him as her partner there and it was Bellamy who convinced her that her own art deserved to be on display along with the other artists who rotated through her gallery. The opening night for her first gallery is in a week, but right now, it’s Bellamy’s moment to shine.

Once Bellamy pulls back, he eyes her suspiciously, as if he can sense her excited energy.

“You’re acting weird,” he teases. 

“I know,” she admits. “But,” she continues opening the box in front of her. “Look what came today!”

Clarke is wearing an enormous, toothy smile as she pulls one of the dozens of books out of the box, holding it up in front of him. Bellamy takes it from her slowly, as if he’s a little bit in shock.

“I’m holding it, and I can’t even believe it,” he finally says, huffing a laugh. Clarke moves from behind the desk, wrapping him in a hug.

“I’m so proud of you,” she tells him.

Bellamy kisses the crown of her head, holding him to her with one arm while he holds up his book with the other. 

“It doesn’t feel real.”

Clarke laughs. “And yet, it is.”

She hugs him tighter, soaking in the happiness of the moment. Bellamy was an easy decision, even after everything. It was a decision she made for no one’s happiness but her own.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed! I am out of a computer for the following week until my new one arrives, but I'll be posting Part 2 as soon as I can. 
> 
> I matched this prompt submitter's donation by donating to [the Southern Poverty Law Center](https://www.splcenter.org/).


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